It took several days before I could summon the energy to push the next part of my plan forward.
I moved carefully through the city, my movements deliberate and calculated. Each purse I lifted was a step closer to my goal, but I was cautious, never staying in one area too long or returning to familiar streets. The last thing I needed was to draw the guards’ attention when I was so close.
Most days, I forced myself to eat, though my stomach often rebelled, the food barely staying down. On other days, it didn’t seem to matter. I let the hunger burn through me, its sharp edges fueling the fire that still smoldered deep within.
I told myself I needed to keep my strength, but the raw burning inside me never left. It gnawed at me, making it hard to focus, hard to breathe, hard to be.
My mind refused to settle. Thoughts whirled and spun, each one vying for my attention, only to fragment and scatter before I could hold onto them.
I was consumed by the weight of what I had done, of what I still needed to do. The lines between fear, anger, and exhaustion blurred until they were indistinguishable from one another.
But no matter how much my body trembled or my thoughts strayed, I pressed on.
I was so close.
By the time I decided to put my plan into action, I had a modest savings of gold tucked away in the belts around my thin belly. Each coin felt like a step closer to the end, a weight I carried both physically and mentally.
I spent my days and nights wandering Pelargir, finding places to close my eyes for a few hours before forcing myself to move on. The nights were slowly growing warmer, but the heat seemed to sap my energy rather than provide comfort. I grew wearier more quickly, the fire inside me burning less brightly with each passing day.
Near the bar, I noticed several buildings offering small rooms for rent, the cost low enough to tempt even someone like me. On a particularly warm day, I decided to rent one of the smaller rooms for a week, paying the price in carefully counted coins.
The room was plain and bare, with just a small table, a chair, a stool, and a bed. The mattress was tiny, its edges fraying, and the thin blanket draped over it looked no better. But my eyes lingered on the bed, a lump forming in my throat.
It’s been so long, I thought, stepping closer. The last time I’d seen a bed was when I was a young girl, before I left home to work at that terrible inn.
I hesitated, then pulled back the blanket. It wasn’t much, but the sight of it stirred something I couldn’t name.
I laid down cautiously, the mattress lumpy and thin beneath me, but even so, it felt like a luxury. Staring at the ceiling, my mind churned with thoughts of all I had left to do, the steps that still needed to be taken to see my plan through.
But as I lay there, the weight of the past weeks settled over me. My eyes grew heavy, the pull of sleep stronger than my will to resist.
For the first time in what felt like years, I allowed myself to rest.
They had me.
One had his hands around my neck, squeezing, cutting off my air, while the other was tying a rope around my feet. My body twisted and writhed as I shrieked, striking out with my arms. My hands hooked into claws, scratching desperately at their faces.
The room was dark—oppressive. I couldn’t see beyond their leering faces, their cruel smiles etched into the shadows. I screamed again, raw and frantic, hoping someone—anyone—might hear me, might come to help.
Their grip only tightened. One of them grabbed my arms, pulling them away, twisting them painfully. The other bound my feet tighter, his rough hands chafing my skin. I kicked as hard as I could, but the rope held firm.
Their hands were everywhere, ghostly and burning, like hot coals pressed against my flesh. My chest heaved as I fought for air, my screams echoing into the suffocating darkness. I clawed and thrashed, but the blows came—sharp, punishing strikes from unseen fists.
They laughed, their voices cruel and echoing in my ears, and I screamed again, my voice ragged with fear. My vision blurred with tears, but still, I struck out, desperate to escape.
And then I woke.
The scream that had been building in my throat spilled out into the quiet room. My body jolted upright, trembling, drenched in sweat. My breath came in ragged, shallow gasps, and I clutched at my throat, the phantom pressure of their hands still lingering.
For a moment, I wasn’t sure where I was. The darkness of the room pressed in around me, but it was just the faint light of morning creeping through the window that brought me back to myself.
It was a nightmare—just a nightmare.
But the terror felt as real as the air I gasped for now.
Shivering, I was drenched in my own sweat, my body trembling uncontrollably. I tried to get out of the bed, but the tangled blankets around my feet sent me sprawling to the floor. My forehead hit the cool hardwood, and I stayed there, weeping silently. The chill of the floor offered a faint reprieve, but the fear coursing through me refused to ebb.
I don’t know how long I lay there, the weight of the nightmare pressing down on me like a heavy fog. Eventually, I forced myself to move, fumbling with the blankets until I freed my feet. My limbs felt sluggish, but I reached for the little lard candle on the table, my hands shaking as I struck a match and held it to the wick.
The tiny flame flickered to life, casting a faint, flickering glow that pushed back the edges of the darkness. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and the corners of the room remained in shadow. I sat there, the candlelight barely enough to chase away the encroaching void, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the shadows.
I could hear them.
Faint movements. Pacing. They’re here, I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs, the pain of old wounds stirring to life.
I pulled the candle closer, clutching it like it was all I had. The small circle of light felt fragile, a blessing too small to keep the dark at bay. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to block out the whispers, but they came anyway, just as they used to in my cell:
“Tonight, you’ll learn your place.”
The words sent a jolt through me, my teeth sinking into my fist to keep from crying out. They’ll hear me. They’ll find me.
The room felt impossibly small, the walls closing in as I rocked back and forth, quiet sobs shaking my frame. My chest tightened painfully, my breath shallow and quick, and my mind spun with the relentless memories.
Time passed in a blur. The little candle burned itself out, leaving me in darkness once more. But outside, the faint glow of dawn began to creep through the window.
I pulled myself to my feet, every movement a struggle. My body ached, my head pounded with a rhythm that left me staggering. I gripped the table for support, my vision swimming.
This has to end, I thought desperately. Tonight, it ends. I can’t live like this. I can’t live with them stalking me.
They were everywhere. Around corners. In the market. Watching, waiting. They know.
I staggered again, catching myself against the table just before I collapsed. My legs were weak, my stomach hollow.
When did I last eat?
The thought felt distant, disconnected. I couldn’t remember. When did I last drink water?
The hours, the days, all blurred together. Nothing made sense anymore.
It wasn’t until the afternoon that I forced myself to move, to rise from the creaking bed in the small room. The hours had passed in a haze, my eyes heavy with the weight of what lay ahead. But I had to focus—I had to prepare.
From the small cloth bag at my feet, I withdrew the borrowed dress and laid it across the table. The fabric, once fine linen, had faded and worn thin with time. It looked tired, like me. I peeled off the clothes I’d been wearing and slipped into the dress, my fingers trembling as I tried to pull it into place. It clung awkwardly in some places, hung loose in others, a poor imitation of the allure it was meant to inspire. My reflection in the cracked mirror mocked me. The dress wasn’t the problem—it was the skeleton wearing it.
I swallowed hard, trying to push back the surge of doubt that rose in my chest. It will have to do, I thought, yanking at the fabric to make it sit better. I was skin and bones, a ghost wrapped in a stranger’s clothes. The thought burned, but there was no time to dwell on it.
From the bag, I retrieved the bottle of wine I’d flinched days before, along with two mismatched wooden cups. My hands shook as I worked, uncorking the bottle and carefully pouring the last of my precious herbs into the liquid. The powder swirled briefly before dissolving, disappearing as if it had never been there. I replaced the cork, pressing it down firmly.
My breathing quickened as I leaned heavily against the table, gripping its edge until the trembling in my hands subsided. Focus. You have to hold yourself together, I thought, closing my eyes and forcing the air into my lungs.
With a few deep breaths, I steadied myself and turned back to the mirror. My fingers raked through my hair, tugging at the knots and giving it a rough tousle. The effort was pitiful, but I didn’t need perfection. I just needed it to be enough—enough to draw their attention, enough to make them think they held the upper hand.
The plan unraveled in my mind again as I tied the bag shut, hiding my rags and anything that could give me away. Every step, every detail I’d spent weeks piecing together came rushing forward, pressing against the edges of my thoughts. Would it work? My heart thudded loudly in response.
It has to.
I closed my eyes again, gripping the bottle tightly and willing my racing heart to slow. The shadows of the past tried to creep in, their voices threatening to pull me under, but I pushed them back.
When I finally stood upright, I glanced at my reflection one last time. Would I even be worth their time? There was no hiding the hollowness in my cheeks or the shadow in my eyes, but there was something else there now—anger, resolve.
Clutching the bottle to my chest, I whispered to myself, “Hold it together. You can do this. You will do this.”
And with that, I stepped toward the door, the weight of the evening heavy on my shoulders.
The sun was dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the narrow streets as I made my way toward the bar. I stuck to the back roads and alleyways, each step calculated to keep me out of sight. My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept moving, the bottle of wine tucked tightly under my arm.
The bar loomed ahead, its sign swaying slightly in the breeze. I closed my eyes for a moment, willing the guards to be here. Please, let them be here.
As I drew closer, a loud shout pierced the air, followed by raucous laughter spilling out through the cracked windows. My stomach twisted, a mix of fear and satisfaction. They’re here.
Peering through the door, I spotted them instantly. They sat at their usual table, mugs in hand, their faces red with drink and mirth. The larger of the two tilted his head back, chugging the last of his ale before slamming the mug onto the table with a loud thud. The smaller guard followed suit, slamming his own mug down moments later. Cheers erupted from the other patrons, their voices blending into a chaotic din.
The larger guard slapped his companion on the back, shouting something inaudible over the noise, and the smaller one barked out a laugh, wiping foam from his lips with the back of his hand. They called out to the barmaid for another round, waving their empty mugs in the air.
My hands tightened around the neck of the wine bottle, my knuckles whitening. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions building inside me. The sight of them laughing, enjoying themselves, made my blood boil.
But I couldn’t afford to let anger consume me now. Not yet. This was the moment I’d been planning for, the moment I’d waited for. Every detail of the plan replayed in my mind, each step sharp and clear.
Stay calm. Stay focused. You only have one chance.
I smoothed my dress with trembling hands and shifted my weight, trying to steady myself. When I stepped inside, they wouldn’t see the ghost of the girl they’d hurt—they would see someone new, someone they wouldn’t suspect. Someone they wouldn’t remember until it was too late.
This was it. This was the beginning of the end.
I stepped back outside, the cool evening air biting at my exposed skin through the worn fabric of the dress. The darkening street offered cover, its shadows deep and inviting. I couldn’t risk waiting inside, not with eyes that could see through the cracks in my plan. Out here, I could be invisible.
The sun dipped fully below the horizon, the last golden rays fading into darkness. The street lamps being lit one by one, their dim glow casting long, uneven shadows along the cobblestones. I leaned against the wall of a nearby building, my heart pounding in rhythm with every shout and clink of glass that spilled out from the bar.
It wasn’t long before the first patrons staggered out, their laughter raucous and slurred. My pulse quickened when I saw them—my targets. They stumbled into the street, leaning on each other for support, their voices loud and obnoxious. They reeked of drink and arrogance, and the sight of them brought bile to the back of my throat.
They were still laughing when one of them reached out to grab at a young girl passing by, her wide eyes darting between them. She had enough sense to dodge away, quickening her steps up the street without a word. The guards hooted with laughter at her retreat, the larger one shouting something crude that was lost in the noise.
This was my moment.
I slipped out from the shadows, letting the light from the nearest street lamp catch me just enough. My dress clung to me awkwardly, but it didn’t matter. I let my head tilt slightly, my hands resting at my sides in what I hoped was a posture that looked enticing rather than terrified. Every muscle in my body screamed to retreat, to run far away, but I stayed rooted to the spot.
Their laughter died down as their bleary eyes caught sight of me. The larger one nudged his companion, a sly grin spreading across his face as he whispered something to the smaller guard. They both looked at me, their gazes dragging over me in a way that made my skin crawl.
Then, as I’d hoped, they veered toward me, their drunken steps uneven but deliberate. My stomach twisted with equal parts fear and anticipation.
“Evenin’, miss,” the larger one slurred, his grin widening.
I forced a small, shy smile, tilting my head down just enough to appear demure but not frightened.
The smaller guard chuckled, his steps faltering as he tried to steady himself. “What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ out here all alone?”
Every nerve in my body was on fire, but I kept my expression calm, my hands steady. This is it. This is the moment. Don’t falter now.
I clutched the wine bottle a little tighter behind my back and took a small step forward, my voice soft and inviting. “I w-was h-hoping for a little c-company.” I mentally commanded my voice to steady, my stutter nearly unnerving me, “M-my s-sister is w-waiting for me back at our r-room.”
The two guards exchanged a brief, stunned glance, their drunken faces lighting up with sly, eager expressions. The larger one elbowed his companion, muttering something I didn’t catch, but I could feel their gaze burning into my back. I didn’t wait for them to say anything further. With a soft smile that I hoped looked inviting, I turned and began my slow trek up the street toward my rented room.
My heart hammered in my chest, each step forward feeling like I was walking into the jaws of a beast. The faint sound of their boots scraping against the cobblestones told me what I needed to know—they were following. It wasn’t even that far.
I kept my pace measured, my breaths steady, though I could feel their presence growing closer with every step. My grip on the wine bottle tightened as I clutched it behind my back. This is what you wanted, I reminded myself. They have to follow. It’s part of the plan. Don’t run.
The shadows stretched long across the street as the dim glow of the lamps flickered above. I dared a glance over my shoulder and felt a jolt when I saw how close they were—almost within arm’s reach. Their heavy footfalls echoed louder now, their chuckles and muttered comments blending into a dissonant murmur behind me.
I nearly faltered, a rush of panic tightening my chest, but I forced myself to keep moving. Stay calm. Keep walking. You need them inside.
The larger guard called out, his voice slurred but leering. “You’re in quite a hurry, lass. Where’s the fire?” His companion laughed, a high-pitched, wheezing sound that set my nerves on edge.
I glanced back again, this time letting my expression shift to something more timid, more uncertain. “N-Not far now,” I murmured, just loud enough for them to hear. The larger one grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light.
When I turned back to face the road ahead, I caught sight of my rented room in the distance—a single, faint glow leaking through the shuttered window. It looked so much smaller now, more fragile than I remembered, and the weight of what was about to happen bore down on me.
This has to work. It has to.
With every step, the narrow street seemed to stretch endlessly before me, but finally, I reached the door. My hand trembled as I pulled it open and stepped inside, the weak hinges creaking loudly in protest. I paused in the doorway, holding it open and casting a glance over my shoulder at the two guards, who had stopped just a few feet behind me.
“Well?” I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Are y-you c-coming in?”
The larger guard grinned, his companion elbowing him in the ribs as they both moved forward, stepping across the threshold. The door swung shut behind them with a dull thud, and my heart threatened to claw its way out of my chest.
This was it. There was no turning back now.
The two guards exchanged a glance, their expressions gleeful and sly as they settled into the small, cramped room. The larger one plopped himself onto the lone wooden chair with a loud creak, spreading his legs wide as if he owned the space. The smaller one stood near the corner, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his eyes darting around the room before settling on me.
“Where’s yer sister?” the larger one asked, his tone dripping with impatience.
I blinked at them innocently, tilting my head slightly, keeping my movements measured and deliberate. It was a delicate balance, staying out of arm’s reach while trying not to look like I was avoiding them. The room was so small that every step I took felt like it brought me dangerously closer to their grasp. “S-She will be just a m-moment,” I said, my voice soft and demure, as if I were trying to reassure them.
They both watched me intently as I moved to the small table. My hands trembled slightly as I picked up the two wooden cups, but I forced a smile and turned back to them. “If it p-pleases you two f-fine gentlemen,” I said sweetly, holding the cups up, “w-would you c-care for some wine? My p-previous… guest…” I paused for effect, letting the implication hang in the air, “…left it for m-me to enjoy, but I w-would much r-rather enjoy it w-with you two.”
The larger guard grinned, his teeth yellowed and crooked, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, ain’t that somethin’?” he said with a chuckle, nudging his companion with his boot. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a proper hostess.”
The smaller guard smirked but said nothing, his gaze fixed on the wine bottle in my hand as I poured. The deep red liquid swirled into each cup, the herbs carefully mixed in earlier now invisible, indistinguishable from the wine itself. I topped off each cup, making sure to keep my hands steady despite the pounding of my heart.
I turned back to them, holding the cups out with a polite smile. “H-here you go,” I said, my voice a little too breathless for my liking. “A f-fine vintage, I’m sure.”
The larger guard reached out and grabbed one of the cups, his hand brushing mine briefly. I resisted the urge to flinch, holding my ground as the smaller guard took the other cup. They both lifted the cups to their noses, sniffing the wine like connoisseurs, before taking hearty gulps.
The larger one let out a satisfied sigh, smacking his lips loudly. “Not bad,” he said, leaning back in the chair, the wooden legs creaking dangerously beneath his weight. “Not bad at all.”
The smaller guard nodded, taking another sip. “Not often we get treated like this,” he muttered, his voice laced with suspicion, though the wine seemed to be doing its job of relaxing him. “What’s the catch, then?”
I gave a small, nervous laugh, stepping back toward the wall to keep distance between us. “No c-catch,” I lied. “I just t-thought you two d-deserved something n-nice for all the h…” my traitorous voice caught in my throat, I swallowed, “hard work you d-do.”
The larger guard laughed, a deep, guttural sound that made my skin crawl. “Hard work, eh? Ain’t no one ever said that about us before.”
They continued drinking, their laughter and crude comments filling the small room. My pulse quickened as I watched them, waiting for the herbs to take effect. My smile stayed fixed, even as my nails dug into the palms of my hands.
Just a little longer.
I couldn’t stay out of his reach for long. His thick hand shot out, grabbing my arm with a force that sent a jolt of panic through my body. Before I could pull away, he yanked me toward him, his face pressing into my hair. The acrid stink of sweat, alcohol, and stale breath surrounded me, nearly making me retch, but I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. Just let him drink the wine, I repeated to myself, over and over, clinging to that thought like a lifeline.
His rough face buried into my chest, his hands gripping me with an entitlement that made my skin crawl. My legs trembled violently beneath me, and I forced them to stay still, to hold me upright. I couldn’t let him see the fear threatening to swallow me whole. I didn’t cry out, though my breath hitched sharply when his grip tightened.
This will be over soon. Just hold on.
But my control—so carefully guarded, so fragile—began to slip. It drained away like water through cupped hands, leaving me trembling and hollow. My vision blurred as tears sprang unbidden to my eyes. I ducked my head, hoping to hide them, to keep him from seeing just how close I was to breaking.
Then his hand shot up to my face, fingers digging into my jaw as he forced my head up, his foul breath hot against my cheek. His glazed, drunken eyes searched mine, and I could see the lecherous hunger in them, the same look I had seen so many times before. That same look that haunted my nightmares.
“Don’t be nervous…” He slurred.
And that was when something within me snapped.
The fire that had been smoldering inside me for so long roared to life, its flames licking at my insides, burning away the fear, the helplessness. The fury that had lain dormant all this time surged forward, blinding and all-consuming. It was as if the weight of every indignity, every scar they had left on me, now fueled an unrelenting rage that steeled my resolve.
I forced my lips into a trembling, almost shy smile, one that made his drunken expression soften into a leering grin. I tilted my head slightly, as though inviting him closer, but my eyes burned with fury that I kept carefully hidden behind the mask.
“Wait,” I whispered, my voice soft and wavering, calculated to hold his attention. I lifted one of the cups from the table, cradling it between trembling hands. “D-drink this,” I murmured, staring at him intently, willing him to take it. “P-Please.”
His eyes flickered down to the cup, then back up to me, a drunken grin spreading across his face. Slowly, I brought the cup to his lips, tilting it gently as he drank. His throat bobbed with each swallow, his gaze fixed on me the entire time, his grin never wavering.
When the cup was empty, I stepped back, letting the fabric of my dress slip down my shoulders slightly as a distraction. His hand brushed against my thigh as I turned away, but I forced myself not to react, not to scream. My anger boiled beneath the surface, fueling my every move as I stepped out of his reach.
Behind me, I heard him chuckle, low and guttural, as he slumped back into the chair. The sound of the smaller guard’s snore drew my attention, and I saw that he had already finished his wine, having sat down on the small bed, and drifted into unconsciousness, his cup rolling out of his limp hand.
When I turned back to the larger guard, his expression had begun to change. The lust in his eyes dulled, replaced by confusion as his brows knitted together. His mouth hung open slightly as he tried to form words, but his lips barely moved. Slowly, his body slumped forward, the empty cup slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor.
The room grew silent.
I stood there, trembling, watching as both men fell into drugged slumber. My breaths came fast and shallow, my fists clenched at my sides. This was it—the moment I had been waiting for.
This.
I stood there, gasping for air as if I had just surfaced from drowning, my chest rising and falling in heaving, erratic breaths. The anger inside me was no longer a quiet, simmering presence—it had grown, consuming me entirely, roaring in my veins like fire. My vision blurred, and I wanted to scream, to let the fury pour out of me in a torrent of curses and despair. I wanted to curse their existence, curse them to never know peace, curse every breath they had stolen from me and every moment they had taken.
Instead, I sank to the floor, my knees hitting the hard wood with a dull thud, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I pressed them to my mouth, muffling the guttural moans that escaped me as hot tears spilled from my eyes, splashing onto the floor in dark, uneven spots. The room around me seemed to shrink, the walls pressing in closer, suffocating me. I rocked back and forth on my heels, my body wracked with trembling sobs as the rage washed over me in waves, relentless and unyielding.
But it did not fade. It never truly faded. It only ebbed, simmering just below the surface, waiting to roar back to life.
I wiped at my face with trembling hands, smearing the tears and dirt into a streaky mess. My breaths slowed, but my resolve hardened. I couldn’t stay like this. Not now. Not when there was still so much to do.
I reached under the bed, my fingers brushing against the rough fabric of the cloth bag I had tucked away. Pulling it out, I forced myself to my feet. This time, my legs no longer trembled beneath me. They felt firm, steady, as if the fury burning inside me had solidified my resolve, given me strength where there had been none before.
The dress hung loose around my thin frame, the fabric worn and heavy with sweat and grime. I shrugged it off, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. The cold air hit my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms, but I didn’t care. I gathered the dress and placed it on the table, a strange sort of care in my movements, as though it deserved some respect for the role it had played.
Then I pulled my own clothes from the bag. The familiar feel of the fabric in my hands was comforting, grounding. I tied the empty money belts around my waist out of habit, their weight a small reassurance, even though they no longer held the gold I had so carefully hoarded. I pulled on my shirt and pants, the material rough against my skin but offering a sense of security that the dress could not.
Standing there, now clothed in my own garments, I felt more like myself—though what “myself” even meant anymore, I couldn’t say. The person I had been was gone, burned away by the fire of my rage and the horrors I had endured. But this person—the one who stood here now, firm and unyielding—was ready for what came next.
I tightened the belts around my waist, my fingers steady as they secured the knots, one last time. Then I glanced at the two unconscious forms, slumped and vulnerable, their breaths slow and even.
It wasn’t over yet.
Digging through my bag, my fingers brushed against the cold metal of the small knife I had hidden there. I pulled it out, holding it tightly in my hand as I stared at the blade. The dim light of the room caught on its edge, making it gleam faintly. It wasn’t much—a crude, utilitarian thing—but it was sharp enough for what I intended.
I turned it over in my hands, running my thumb along the dull side of the blade, feeling the weight of it. My breathing slowed, steadying as I let my thoughts settle on what I was about to do. Memories began to surface—unbidden, unwanted. Their laughter, their mocking words. The roughness of their hands, the sick pleasure they took in my pain. The way they stripped away my dignity, my humanity, piece by piece.
My grip on the knife tightened until my knuckles turned white. The anger that had been roaring inside me swelled again, threatening to consume me, but I didn’t fight it this time. I let it feed my resolve, sharpening it like the edge of the blade in my hand.
This wasn’t just revenge. This wasn’t just anger. This was justice—the only justice I would ever get, the only justice they deserved.
I turned my gaze to the two men, still slumped in their drugged stupor. Their chests rose and fell in slow, even breaths, completely unaware of the storm they had unleashed in me. They looked so harmless now, so weak, and it almost made me laugh. These were the men who had once held power over me, who had made me feel like I was nothing. But now? Now, I was the one with the power.
I glanced around the room, making sure I hadn’t left anything of mine behind. My bag sat near the bed, its contents neatly arranged around it on the floor. I knelt down, gathering everything carefully, tucking them away. The last thing I needed was to leave behind something that could tie me to this place, to what I was about to do.
Satisfied, I rose to my feet, my movements deliberate and measured. My heart pounded steadily in my chest, not with fear but with purpose. I turned back to the two guards, my fingers tightening around the knife. My mind was clear now, my thoughts razor-sharp, focused entirely on what had to be done.
I simply slit their throats, one after another. The blade slid through flesh with a sickening ease, their sluggish drugged hearts pumping the thick, dark liquid out in slow, uneven streams. Their life-force spilled from them, pooling on the wooden floor, bit by bit, forming rivulets that snaked towards the window. The faint dripping sound of blood seeping through the floorboards echoed in the silence, disappearing into the earth below.
I stood for a moment, staring down at the crimson puddles spreading out beneath their slumped forms. My breath was steady, my hands calm. There was no satisfaction, no sense of triumph. Just a strange, eerie quiet. Both in the room and within myself. The roar of my anger had dimmed, leaving behind a hollow stillness.
Carefully, I tiptoed around the blood, mindful not to let it stain me. The smell of iron hung heavy in the air, but I forced myself to ignore it, to focus on my movements. I wiped the blade clean on the larger guard’s tunic, the act mechanical and detached, and slid the knife back into my bag. One final glance around the room confirmed that I had left nothing of mine behind. Nothing that could tie me to this place.
Without any more hesitation, I walked out of the room, the door creaking softly before closing with a heavy thud. The sound reverberated in the dim night, echoing in my ears like the final note of a song, the closing chapter of a story.
I stepped into the darkening night, the cool air brushing against my skin. The world outside felt strangely unchanged, as though it had no knowledge of what had just transpired within those walls. My heart beat steadily in my chest, and my breaths came slow and even. Behind me, the nightmare that had haunted me for so long lay buried in the stillness of that room, its curtain drawn with the closing of the door.
I kept walking without looking back, my shadow stretching long behind me in the fading light. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I was not running. I was not hiding.
I was free. Or, at least, I told myself I was.
The moon had not risen from her hiding place yet and the streets were still dark, I moved in no planned direction, just letting my legs carry me, moving away from that room. I was going to be free of them. I was finally free of them all. The thought repeated itself to me with every step I took, letting it echo in my mind, willing it to take root. I was finally free of them all. They would never again haunt my waking moments with their sneering faces, their cruel laughter. They would never again stalk my sleeping hours, dragging me into memories I could not escape.
The weight of their presence, one I had carried for so long, began to lift. The oppressive pressure that had sat on my chest, suffocating me, eased with every corner I turned, with every shadow I left behind. The streets were silent, save for the soft scuff of my boots on the uneven cobblestones and the occasional rustle of wind through the empty market stalls.
The world seemed indifferent to what had just transpired, to the blood I had left behind. It neither welcomed nor condemned me, offering only the quiet space of the night for my thoughts to settle. I felt the trembling in my legs return, not from fear but from the realization of what I had done. Of what I had survived.
I paused in the middle of a deserted square, tilting my head up toward the darkened sky. No stars greeted me—only an endless black expanse. But I breathed deeply, the cool air filling my lungs and grounding me. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I was not running toward something or away from something. I was simply moving forward.
This is freedom, I told myself. This is what it feels like.
And yet, deep inside, I couldn’t shake the faint, lingering ache. The kind that comes not from fear or anger, but from the knowledge that while the demons that once held you are gone, their shadows may still linger. Still, I kept walking. For now, that was enough.
My feet carried me onward, unbidden, their steps rhythmic and automatic. I do not know how long I walked–minutes, hours, I wasn’t sure–but eventually, I found myself standing before one of the bridges that spanned the river winding through the city’s veins. The stone arch stretched over the water below, solid and enduring, a stark contrast to the storm that suddenly began raging inside of me.
The river flowed beneath my feet, its current steady and unyielding, carrying with it the debris of the city’s day. The sound of the rushing water reached my ears, clear and insistent, cutting through the haze that had settled over me. It pulled at the edges of my awareness, anchoring me back to the present. For the first time since I walked out of that room, I realized how much the fire within me had cooled. The burning rage that had consumed me for so long had begun to ebb, leaving behind not peace, but something else entirely.
A raw, empty ache spread through my chest, heavy and unfamiliar. It was as though the flames had scorched me hollow, leaving behind a fragile shell that felt like it might crack with every breath I took. The fire was gone, but the ashes remained, cold and weightless, filling my lungs with a heaviness I couldn’t expel.
I moved to the edge of the bridge, my hands brushing against the rough stone of its railing. I stared down into the water below, watching as it churned and rippled, its surface catching faint glimmers of light from the lanterns lining the bridge. It was relentless in its motion, as if it could wash away anything that dared enter its grasp. The idea was almost comforting.
The cold air wrapped around me, seeping through the thin fabric of my clothes. I shivered but didn’t move, letting the chill bite at my skin. It was grounding in a way, reminding me that I was still here, still alive, even if I didn’t know what that meant anymore.
I closed my eyes, letting the sound of the water fill my ears, drowning out the memories that clawed at the edges of my thoughts. For a brief moment, I imagined letting the river take everything—the blood, the screams, the weight of what I had done. I imagined it washing me clean, carrying it all far away to a place I would never see again.
My breathing came in ragged gasps, each one cutting through my chest like a knife. It was as if I could not get enough air. I killed two men. The thought repeated itself, over and over, louder with every beat of my heart. I killed two men. I took two lives… no, I took three lives in my revenge.
The weight of it crashed down on me all at once, an unbearable force that left me gasping for air. My knees buckled beneath me, hitting the cold, unforgiving ground with a jarring thud. My bag, my meager collection of belongings, slipped from my grasp and fell beside me, forgotten.
I found myself on all fours, my hands trembling against the cobblestones as the realization ripped through me like a blade. It was not triumph I felt, not freedom. It was an emptiness so vast and consuming that it left me hollow. What have I done? What have I become?
The question echoed through my mind, louder and louder, until it drowned out everything else. My breaths turned into sharp, uneven sobs as the pain rolled over me in waves. Hot tears spilled from my eyes, dropping onto the stones below, mingling with the dirt and grime.
I am no better than the hag who sold me. No better than the guards who beat me, who took everything from me. No better than the man who thought he could buy me with gold. I am them. I am what they were. A monster. A destroyer. A taker of life.
The words burned through my mind, each one a dagger twisting deeper into the remnants of my soul. The fire of my rage was gone, replaced by this crushing, suffocating emptiness. A void that I could not fill, no matter how tightly I clenched my fists or how hard I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
Worthless. The word came unbidden, a whisper in the back of my mind that quickly grew to a shout. I am worthless. I have always been worthless.
I collapsed further, my forehead pressing against the cool stone of the bridge. The rushing water below mocked me, its ceaseless flow indifferent to my agony. What is the point of my life? What am I supposed to do now?
The realization was a weight too heavy to bear. I do not deserve to live. I should not live.
The tears came faster, my chest heaving as I struggled to hold myself together, but I was unraveling, fraying at every edge. The ghosts of my past swirled around me, their voices a cacophony of jeers and accusations. I could see their faces—the hag, the guards, the man who tried to buy me—and now my own reflection stared back at me, twisted and unrecognizable.
I wanted to scream, but my throat closed against the sound. Instead, I stayed there, broken and trembling, the ash of my soul scattering in the wind.
I reached up, my trembling fingers finding the rough edges of the stone wall. My grip was weak, my palms slick with sweat and tears, but I clawed at it, desperate to pull myself upright. My arms trembled as they strained, and for a brief moment, I thought I had found my footing. But my legs betrayed me, shaking violently beneath me before collapsing entirely. I hit the ground hard, the jarring impact sending sharp pain through my knees.
A strangled cry escaped my lips, half a sob and half a scream of frustration. I couldn’t give up. Not here. Not now. With tears blurring my vision, I reached for the wall again, dragging myself upward. My fingers scraped against the stone, my nails breaking as I fought against the weakness that consumed me. But it was no use. My legs gave out once more, and I crumpled back to the ground, my head hanging low as I gasped for breath.
The defeat was too much. Too heavy. It crushed me, pressing down on my chest until I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I sobbed, the sound raw and guttural, shaking me to my core. The realization hit me like a blow—I cannot live like this.
My hands pressed against the ground, the rough texture biting into my skin as I curled in on myself. The tears came in torrents, hot and endless, as I rocked back and forth, the weight of everything dragging me further into despair. My voice broke as I whispered the truth I had been avoiding for so long: I do not want to live like this. I cannot live like this.
The words echoed in my mind, a mantra of despair. My breaths came in sharp gasps, each one feeling harder and harder to take. I tilted my head back, staring up at the dark sky, my tears streaking down my face and pooling at the corners of my lips. There was no answer in the heavens above, only the vast, empty void of the night.
Gasping, I doubled over as the heaving overtook me. My chest convulsed, my body shaking uncontrollably as I retched, though there was nothing left inside me to give. The image of the blood came unbidden, vivid and relentless. So much blood. It pooled beneath them, dark and glistening, the smell of iron thick in the air. It clung to my memory like a stain I could never scrub away.
I pressed my hands against my chest, clawing at the fabric of my shirt as if I could somehow pry the weight off my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs burned, and the air around me felt too thin, too sharp. My breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a desperate attempt to keep the panic at bay. But it was no use.
My mind reeled with the sight of it—thick, dark rivulets trailing across the floor, seeping into the cracks of the wood, dripping into the ground below. I could still hear the soft patter of it hitting the earth, steady and unyielding, as though mocking my every breath. My vision blurred with fresh tears, but I couldn’t close my eyes. The blood was there too, waiting for me, haunting me.
So much blood. So much. The thought echoed in my mind, growing louder with every gasp, every shuddering breath. It was everywhere, and I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t wash it away. I couldn’t undo it.
I was drowning in it.
Drowning.
Below, the dark waters flowed, steady and endless, their rhythm unbroken by the chaos inside me. They moved with purpose, carrying everything away—debris, dirt, even the blood that had dripped between the floorboards. They flowed onward to the larger river that would carry it all out to the vast, unknowable sea.
I clenched the edge of the bridge tightly, finally pulling myself up to lean against the edge. My nails scraped against the stone as I shook my head, trying to banish the thoughts. But they were relentless, just like the waters below. They churned within me, a tide of fear and despair that I could not escape.
I stared at the current, entranced by its relentless motion, its uncaring indifference.
The current beneath the bridge seemed to call to me, its steady flow a stark contrast to the turmoil inside. It promised silence, stillness, an end to the endless running. My tears dripped down, joining the river below, and I wondered if it would take me too, carry me out to sea, away from the shadows that pursued me.
I leaned further against the edge, the cold stone biting into my skin. My breathing steadied, though it came as shallow, hitching gasps. I closed my eyes, letting the sobs quiet. But the ache in my chest did not fade. It only deepened, a hollow void that no current could wash away.
The whispering grew louder, a gentle, persistent call that rose from the dark waters below. It wrapped around me like a cold, beckoning hand, soft yet insistent. Come, it seemed to say. Come, and I will take it all away. The pain, the fear, the memories. Let me hold you in my embrace.
I couldn’t fight it anymore. My trembling arms pushed against the edge of the bridge as I pulled my thin, frail body onto the ledge. My feet found their place, steady for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The world seemed to still around me, the rushing of the river below the only sound that remained.
I stared down into the cold depths, the dark water swirling and shifting like an endless void. It promised peace, silence—a release from the chaos that had become my existence. I felt the wind tug at my hair, tugging at my clothes in the night air. The cold bit at my skin, but I welcomed it. I breathed deeply, drawing in the crisp, damp air of the night, letting it fill my lungs one last time.
I closed my eyes. The whispering was clearer now, soothing in its simplicity. Let go, it said. Let it all go.
With a trembling breath, I let my body tip forward, surrendering to the pull of the whispering depths. The world tilted, and for the briefest of moments, I felt weightless, free from the burden that had chained me for so long. Then, I fell.