The silence after tears is a different kind of noise. It ringed. It settles in the hollows of your ears and fills the spaces between breaths. Aurelia sat against the door until her legs grew numb and the cold from the stone floor seeped through her thin gown. She had cried for Sorana, for herself, for the impossible knot of hatred and need that tightened around her heart whenever he was near.
Slowly, she pushed herself up. Her body felt both heavy and strangely light, as if the storm of emotion had washed something away, leaving a stark, clean emptiness.
She was done waiting for the doors to open.
She remembered Kaelen's words, his promise to help Sorana.
It is all that monster's fault, she thought bitterly, her fingers curling into the fabric of her gown.
Why would he buy me and still take a monster to wed?
Tenebrarum is just a demon.
Her thoughts sank deeper than she expected, into the dark waters where old whispers lived. Just a demon.
But if that were true, why did his absence feel like a wound?
Why did the room hum with the memory of his hands?
Why couldn't she forget him, even for a minute?
The thought was a broken record, scratching the same painful groove in her mind.
Tenebrarum haunted her even in the silence—a ghost made of memory and muscle, of whispered threats and searing touches.
Her body, at least, was simpler.
Perhaps more honest.
She hadn't eaten since morning, and now the pale afternoon light was bleeding into the blue-grey of dusk.
Hours had passed in this room. Hours of stillness, of fury and tears.
The emptiness inside was no longer just emotional. It was louder than ever.
Her stomach growled—a deep, rolling protest that seemed to echo off the stone walls.
Ahhhh!
Aurelia pressed a hand against it, fingers curling into the fine fabric of her gown. The hunger was a grounding ache, a reminder that she was still flesh and blood, not just a collection of fears and wanting.
Hunger gnawed a hollow ache beneath her ribs. She could ignore the thoughts, the memories, the fear—but not this. This was primal, undeniable.
She pushed herself up from the floor, her stiff limbs protesting. Her eyes scanned the shadowed corners of the room, methodically this time.
Not for escape but sustenance.
A small, woven basket sat half-hidden beside the heavy drapery of the bed. She hadn't noticed it before.
Finally, something to eat...
She sighed rushing to it, her knees meeting the cold stone.
Her hands plunged into the basket, fingers closing around a rough, round loaf. She didn't pause to wonder who had left it or why. All she wanted was to satisfy her belly now.
She tore a piece off with her teeth.
The crust was hard, cracking loudly in the silent room. The inside was dry, crumbling to dust on her tongue. She chewed mechanically, forcing the stale paste down her throat until her stomach cramped in protest. She spat the last gritty mouthful into her palm, defeated.
As she turned wearily toward the bed, a glint of gold caught her eye.
There, on a low table draped in dark cloth, sat a tray.
And on that tray was a small feast.
Fresh bread, its crust gleaming. A wedge of soft, pale cheese. A handful of dried figs, wrinkled and sweet. A carafe of water that caught the dying light like a promise.
Her breath caught. It looked like heaven laid out on a platter.
A smile—real, unbidden—spread across her face as she rushed toward the table.
Her fingers trembled as she touched the edge of the tray, as if half-expecting it to dissolve like a mirage. She leaned in, inhaling the scent of warm bread and ripe figs. It still felt like a dream.
She picked up a soft roll and brought it to her lips. The moment her teeth sank into its yielding surface, her eyes fluttered closed. A low, almost soundless sigh escaped her. She tipped her head back, cheeks hollowing as she chewed slowly, savouring the delicate, yeasty taste that flooded her senses.
For a few heartbeats, there was no locked door, no Tenebrarum nor Kaelen, no dying friend. There was only this—this simple, profound mercy of food. And in the dark quiet of his room, she allowed herself to believe, just for a moment, that it was a gift and not a trick.
She ate with a slow, deliberate focus, no longer ravenous but reverent. Each bite was a reclamation. The cheese was cool and creamy on her tongue. The figs burst with deep, honeyed sweetness. She drank from the carafe, the water clean and cold, washing away the last grit of desperation.
Strength slowly —began to seep back into her limbs. The fog of hunger and despair lifted, leaving her mind clearer, sharper. The room came into focus not as a prison of fear, but as a space of things: the draped easel, the tools on the worktable, the reinforced bed, the locked door.
I'm so stupid!
The thought pierced her like a shard of ice.
Sorana was slowly dying—bleeding out on Kaelen's bed, being unmade by a poison only a monster could inflict—and here she was, savoring figs like a contented cow in a stall.
The last swallow of bread turned to ash in her mouth.
She stumbled back from the tray as if it had bitten her, her hand flying to her lips, closing her mouth immediately.
The momentary peace was shattered, replaced by a wave of hot, choking shame. She had let warmth and flavour lull her into forgetting, even for a moment, the life draining away because of her.
A sound escaped her—a raw, fractured gasp of self-loathing. Her gaze snapped to the locked door, then to the covered bed, then to her own hands, still smelling of cheese and idleness.
The food wasn't a gift. It was a distraction.
A test she had failed.
Guilt, hot and sickening, flooded her chest.
Her eyes, blurry with self-loathing, swept the room—searching for something, anything to anchor her spiralling shame.
That's when she saw it.
The painting...
High on the wall, hung like a trophy, was her own portrait.
That naked and exposed painting Tenebrarum had just worked on hours ago.
Now finished, how could he display this in the room, his most private sanctum?
The violation was absolute. He hadn't just locked her.
He had pinned her here to see this , her painting hunged on the wall—a captured, silent version of herself forever on display for his eyes alone.
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To be continued...