CHAPTER 5

First Person's Perspective

Elena

The next day was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made my skin crawl. I sat on the small, hard bed, gripping the rough blanket with trembling fingers. My whole body ached, my head felt too heavy for my neck, and my eyes burned from exhaustion. But I refused to close them.

Every time I did, I saw him.

The man in the black cloak.

His glowing red eyes stared into mine, never blinking, never looking away. His voice slithered through the darkness like a snake, whispering words I didn’t understand, promising things I didn’t want to hear. His cold fingers brushed against my skin, sending icy shivers down my spine. But when I opened my eyes, he wasn’t there.

I was too afraid to sleep.

The first night was the worst. My body begged me to rest, but my fear kept me awake. I paced the small room over and over, my bare feet freezing against the stone floor. Every few minutes, my head drooped, my eyelids too heavy to hold up. I slapped my own face, hard, to shake off the sleep. When that didn’t work, I stumbled to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and let ice-cold water run over my hands before splashing it onto my face. The freezing shock made me gasp, my skin burning from the cold.

"Stay awake," I whispered to myself. "If you sleep, he’ll come back."

By the second day, my head throbbed so much that every heartbeat felt like a hammer slamming into my skull. My vision blurred. My hands shook as I reached for the plate of food the maids had left earlier. I picked up a piece of bread, but when I bit into it, it tasted like dust. My stomach clenched with hunger, but I couldn’t force myself to swallow. The lump of food sat on my tongue, dry and heavy, before I spat it out and pushed the plate away.

The third day was even worse. My legs wobbled every time I tried to stand, and the room spun around me like I was on a boat in the middle of a storm. My hands felt numb, like they weren’t even mine. My lips were cracked, my mouth dry as sand. I pinched my arms, dug my nails into my skin, hoping pain would keep me awake. I bit down on my tongue until I tasted blood. The walls of the room swayed, shifting in and out of focus, but I forced myself to stay up.

"Just a little longer," I whispered. "Just a little longer."

By the fourth day, I barely recognized myself. I stood in front of the tiny bathroom mirror, staring at the ghost in the reflection. My eyes were sunken, surrounded by deep, dark circles. My lips were dry and peeling. My hair was a tangled mess, sticking to my pale, clammy skin. I looked like I had already died.

But I didn’t care.

As long as I stayed awake, he wouldn’t come back.

By the fifth day, I felt like I wasn’t even alive anymore. My body was too heavy to move, my mind floating somewhere far away. I slumped against the wall, my head falling forward. My eyelids fluttered, desperate to close.

No.

I forced myself up, using whatever strength I had left. I clenched my fist and slammed it into my thigh. Pain exploded through my leg, making me gasp. But it worked. It kept me awake.

Then, the door opened.

Light flooded into the room. I blinked, my vision struggling to adjust. A tall figure stood in the doorway.

Salvatore.

His sharp eyes scanned me from head to toe, taking in my trembling body, my hollow cheeks, the dark shadows under my eyes. His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists.

"What the hell happened to you?" His voice was sharp, cold.

I tried to answer, but no sound came out. My throat was too dry. My lips parted, but nothing escaped.

Salvatore turned to the maids standing behind him. Their heads were bowed low, their shoulders stiff with fear.

"You were supposed to take care of her!" His voice shook the walls. "Look at her! She looks like she’s dying!"

One of the maids, a young girl with wide, terrified eyes, stepped forward. "M-My lord, we tried—"

"Silence!" Salvatore’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

He moved fast. Too fast. In a blink, he grabbed the girl’s arm, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. She let out a small whimper of pain.

"You failed," he hissed. "And failure has consequences."

He shoved her forward, making her fall to her knees in the center of the room. The other maids didn’t move. Their faces were pale, their hands shaking. No one dared to speak.

I tried to stand, but my legs refused to work. Still, I forced out my voice. It was barely a whisper. "Stop..."

Salvatore didn’t even look at me. His grip on the girl’s arm tightened.

"Ten lashes," he ordered the guards. "The rest of you will watch."

The girl’s breath hitched. "Please, my lord, have mercy—"

"Mercy?" Salvatore let out a cold, cruel laugh. "You don’t deserve mercy."

The guards stepped forward. One of them grabbed the girl’s shoulders and yanked her up. She screamed as they dragged her out of the room. Her cries echoed down the hallway, fading into the distance.

The other maids stood in silence, their eyes filled with unshed tears.

Salvatore turned back to me. His eyes were dark, unreadable. But there was something else in them. Something that made my stomach twist.

"This is what happens when you make yourself weak," he said softly. "This is what happens when you refuse to obey."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him about the man in the black cloak, about the nightmares that kept me awake. But the words wouldn’t come.

Because in his eyes, I saw something worse than anger.

Disappointment.

And that scared me more than anything.