The trial (3)

Trapped in this stifling room, my body immobilized, my pleas echoing against the walls like a desperate symphony. I'm not one to easily admit defeat, but in this hellish confinement, my frustration reached a boiling point. "Mom, for the love of all that's holy, let me go! Melissa's in danger, can't you see that?" I roared, every fiber of my being aching to break free.

Henrietta, my composed and infuriatingly calm mother, stood on the other side of the door. Her gaze, unwavering, met mine through the narrow gap between the frame and the door itself. A twisted smile played on her lips, sending shivers down my spine. "Patience, Killian. Your beloved Mellisa will be fine. Just a little longer," she replied, as if orchestrating some cruel game.

Frustration clawed at me, my hands involuntarily balling into fists. "Damn it, Mom! My mark is burning. She's in pain. Why are you doing this?" I seethed, the weight of helplessness bearing down on me like a vice.

Henrietta, ever the enigma, regar