At the End of the Tunnel
Just because I accidentally broke my adopted sister’s bracelet, my brother threw me into the black market to “learn my lesson.”
By the time I was rescued, I had been tortured so brutally that I was barely recognizable. It was Elijah York who risked his own life to pull me out of that hellhole. When we finally escaped, his blood had soaked my clothes, yet he held me tightly against his chest and whispered that he would never regret it.
For three years after that, I drifted between moments of clarity and bouts of pure madness. I despised myself, constantly feeling dirty and broken, but Elijah always treated me like a princess.
Until this day, my mind was, for once, clear. Caressing the tin