Liona's POV
The corridor felt like a tunnel cut out of ice.
Along the rough gray stone, heavy iron brackets held torches that popped and hissed, casting long, dark shadows that stretched across the floor like thin fingers.
I had walked this path so many times over the last few days that I knew exactly which flagstones were uneven, but tonight, every single step felt like I was dragging weights behind me.
A young maid walked past me from the opposite direction, her arms full of folded towels.
As our paths crossed, she quickly dropped her head, her chin tucking tightly against her chest as she bowed.
I didn't stop. I didn't look at her face. I didn't ask for her name, because knowing a name meant making this place real.
It meant putting down roots in a castle where I was nothing but a bird in a cage, and I refused to let myself care about anything or anyone within these walls.
At the very end of the long hall sat my door.
