6: Only the beginning

Natasha’s POV

The walls were thick, made of something colder than stone. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and lingers. There were no windows in the cell, just one weak lantern on the far end of the corridor casting shadows that didn’t move. I sat on the floor with my knees pulled to my chest, dress torn at the hem, arms wrapped around myself like that would hold me together. My mother sat across from me, back against the opposite wall, her shawl draped over her shoulders, but even that couldn’t hide the way she shook.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was loud, heavy, echoing with what-ifs and regrets. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling. My mouth was dry, my lips cracked from crying, from screaming when they took me down. When they shoved her into the cell behind me and slammed the door. I’d begged them to let her go. Told them it was me, only me. But they hadn’t listened. No one ever really did.

She looked at me, eyes red but dry now. She’d crie