Ayla’s Point Of View
Morning had come, pale and cold, like a hesitant apology after the horror of last night. I hadn’t slept, not really. After that nightmare, I’d just lain there in the bed like a corpse laid out for mourning, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to find me again and failing.
My skin still prickled, like the screams from that dream had crawled under it and made a home there. I needed to move. I need fresh air. I didn’t care where I went, I just couldn’t stay in this room a second longer.
I slipped out of bed, moving quietly, brushing my tangled hair out of my face, wincing at the dull ache behind my eyes. My whole body felt like a puzzle missing too many pieces. Bruised. Disoriented. Fragile.
I padded over to the door, slowly opening it, half-expecting someone to jump out at me—but the hall was empty. Quiet. Too quiet. I stepped out and spotted a maid walking past briskly, carrying folded linens.
“Excuse me,” I rasped, voice raw from too much silence. “The… entr
