The days blended together, one indistinguishable from the next. Time had no meaning anymore. Each moment felt like a slow, suffocating breath, the air thick with a heaviness that seemed to weigh down every part of me.
The mansion had become my cage again, the walls closing in tighter with each passing hour. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen sunlight, or heard a voice that didn't belong to someone who held power over me. The guards who brought me food, the ones who checked on me, all spoke in cold, empty tones, as though they were nothing but shadows themselves.
I had stopped crying. The tears no longer came. The numbness inside me had spread like ice, freezing any remnants of hope I had left. It was as though I had become a part of this place—a ghost among the dead.
The world outside the mansion was nothing but a dream now. I'd seen it, touched it, breathed it. And it had been ripped away from me, as easily as a cruel joke. The realization sank in deeper each day: I was alone in this fight. And I could trust no one—not Mira, not anyone.
I rolled over in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. I was done with hope. It had betrayed me just as much as the people I had trusted. The pain of it was too much. There was no way to move forward, not with the lies, not with the betrayal still fresh in my chest.
But one thing remained: I could still fight.
It wasn't much, but it was something. I could still **survive**.
I shifted slightly, turning my attention to the only thing I had left—my own mind. I had always relied on others, on the kindness of Mira, the promises of safety. But now, I saw how foolish I had been. The world didn't care about me, and those who pretended to were wolves in sheep's clothing.
*No more.*
The anger I had buried deep inside me began to rise. Slowly. Cautiously. I wasn't sure yet how I would escape, but I knew I would. I would plan, and I would wait. I would be patient.
And when the time came, I would leave this place—on my own terms.
For now, I observed. I watched. I waited.
Each day, I kept my head low, my movements slow, as if the very act of surviving required a careful dance. The guards were predictable. Their footsteps, their routines, the shifts in the air when they entered my room. I had to learn everything about them—who I could trust and who I could manipulate. But most importantly, I needed to know who I could outsmart.
I didn't show any signs of rebellion. Not yet. To do so would be to risk everything. I needed time. I needed to become invisible.
I ate the meager meals they brought me, my stomach a hollow pit I no longer tried to fill. Food didn't matter now. My mind was focused on one thing: escape.
I had nothing left to lose.
At night, I lay awake, staring at the shadows that danced on the walls. I made plans—slow, quiet plans that no one would ever see. I counted the days since my return. I memorized every sound, every shift in the house. The doors. The locks. The guards' faces. I began to chart out the layout of the mansion in my mind, even the hidden corners I had never seen.
There was a window in my room. Small. Too high to reach. But it wasn't impossible. I would find a way.
And when I was ready—when the time was right—I would make my move. I would slip away from this place, like a shadow in the night, and never look back.
But for now, I would keep my silence. I would play the part of the broken girl they expected me to be. They would never see me coming. Not until it was too late.