Selene Ashryn moved quietly across the counter, a wicker basket balanced in her hands. Inside were the few foodstuffs she would need to survive another week beneath Lyron's roof — or rather, within his cage.
When he had first taken her, Lyron forbade her from being seen by anyone. He had warned her, threatened her, and sealed her lips with fear. The very breath that filled her lungs felt too precious to lose, too fragile to risk defying him.
For six endless months, she had been locked away behind heavy doors, living in a silence that pressed against her skull like iron. When she finally begged to be allowed outside — if only to fetch food — Lyron had struck her. The slap had burned more than her cheek; it had seared itself into her memory. He had thought her request madness. To him, the world outside was danger, and she was his possession to guard, not a soul to free.
Now, even after more than two years, the echoes of that life haunted her. Fear had built a home inside her chest. It controlled her breath, her steps, her thoughts. Every time she remembered the sound of his voice or the glint in his eyes before he struck, she felt her lungs tighten.
She was only nineteen, but her body felt older — heavy with years that were not her own. Lyron had aged her spirit, drained her hope. The house she lived in had become her prison, and she its unwilling ghost.
Drawing a trembling breath, Selene shook the thought away and stepped toward the counter.
"Good evening, miss," greeted the woman behind it, her tone light as she began scanning the items in Selene's basket.
"Good evening," Selene murmured back, forcing a faint smile.
The woman's name was Marwen Hale, and she worked most evenings at the town's small grocer. There was something gentle about her presence — a softness that eased even the hardest moments. Selene had come to recognize her not just as the shopkeeper, but as the only person in this town who met her eyes without suspicion.
Marwen was a woman of quiet beauty. Her dark aurburn curls tumbled freely over her shoulders, and her Hazel eyes shimmered with kindness beneath the lamplight. That night, she wore a simple rose-colored dress trimmed with lace, the kind of gown that seemed to belong to another life, another world — one far gentler than the one Selene knew.
Selene often caught herself admiring her — not with envy, but with a wistful ache. Marwen's ease, her calm laughter, her freedom to exist without fear — they reminded Selene of the woman she used to be before Lyron had stolen her name and her light.
Their exchanges were always brief, yet an unspoken understanding connected them. Marwen had noticed things others didn't — the faint shadow of a bruise beneath Selene's sleeve, the tremor in her hands as she placed her coins on the counter, the hollow sadness in her smile.
Every time Selene appeared, Marwen knew something had happened — another fight, another night of cruelty. She could tell by the way Selene avoided her reflection, as though the sight of herself were too much to bear.
And always, it followed the same pattern. After the violence came Lyron's voice, low and cruel:
"Take this money. Go to the market. Buy me a bottle of wine — and don't take long."
Those words were like chains around her neck — not commands, but reminders of ownership. He let her walk freely through the streets, yet the freedom was an illusion. Even under the sun, she could still feel the invisible leash that bound her back to him.
Selene held the coins tighter in her palm, her fingers trembling slightly as Marwen handed her the wrapped bread and herbs.
"Are you all right, dear?" Marwen asked softly, her tone full of concern.
Selene's throat tightened. She wanted to speak, to tell this kind woman everything — about the bruises, the fear, the endless nights. But the words wouldn't come. The invisible warning in Lyron's voice still echoed in her mind. If you speak, you die.
So she forced another smile. "I'm fine," she whispered, though her voice cracked like glass.
Marwen studied her for a moment, then only nodded. There was sadness in her eyes — the kind of sadness that came from knowing but being powerless to help.
Selene thanked her quietly, gathered her basket, and stepped out into the mist-coated street. The cold air bit at her skin, but at least it was air she had chosen to breathe.
---
The streets of the Town of Skulls were dim and hushed at that hour. Faint lanterns burned behind shuttered windows, casting long shadows across the cobbled road. In the distance, the sound of a church bell echoed — three slow chimes that rolled through the fog like whispers from another world.
Selene's steps echoed softly as she walked, the hem of her plain linen dress brushing against her ankles. The scent of rain clung to the night, mingled with the faint spice of roasted chestnuts from a nearby stall.
She paused for a moment beneath a flickering lamp, glancing around at the handful of figures still lingering in the marketplace — merchants packing up their wares, a drunken man stumbling home, a cloaked rider passing silently through. The sight made her heart ache. Every one of them was free.
In another life, she might have been like them — a simple woman living a simple life, worrying about the price of wheat instead of the temper of a monster.
A faint wind brushed her hair aside, and she felt a shiver of awareness — a strange sensation that someone, or something, was watching her. She turned, scanning the mist. For a heartbeat, she thought she saw a shadow move between the narrow alleys, tall and dark, like a man cloaked in smoke.
But when she blinked, it was gone.
She exhaled slowly and kept walking, clutching the basket tighter. Fear