LENA
It began as a dream. At least, I thought it was a dream.
One moment, I was shackled and broken, my body a map of bruises and torn skin, my spirit frayed at the edges. The cold of the stone cell clung to my bones like a second skin. And then—
I was standing barefoot in a moonlit forest.
The world around me shimmered with silver mist, each particle glinting like stardust suspended in air. Ancient trees rose into the sky like cathedral pillars, their trunks wide and gnarled with age, their leaves dusted with frost that didn't bite. No pain reached me here. No cold. No fear.
My nightshirt, torn and bloodstained only moments ago, now hung clean and whole against my body, soft as silk. My feet pressed against mossy earth, damp with dew, but not unpleasantly so. It was as if the forest welcomed me, as if it knew me.
I should have felt disoriented.
Instead, I felt known.
