Celine
I had no idea how long I had been in the mirrored prison. Time stopped meaning anything and I had stopped counting the moments between Charles’ visits and between the visions that clawed at my mind, threatening to pull me under. All I had left was the echo of my own breath, ragged and shallow and the promise I kept whispering to myself in the dark. But that promise felt very fragile the day the door was opened and as they came for me.
The two guards were silent and their faces were hidden under silver masks as they walked to me. Their presence filled the cell like smoke… it was suffocating and oppressive and I stared at them, not blinking as my beaten pounded. For a minute, I thought they were going to drag me to another cell, or worse, to my execution.
Instead, one of them spoke up, his voice hollow under the mask. “You’re to be prepared.”
Prepared? For what? I asked myself, confusion swirling in me as my stomach twisted. My instincts screamed at me that whatever was coming
