I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. “Try me.”
He stares at me for a long time, and I see the war behind his eyes, see him trying to decide whether to break or bury me.
He chooses bury, just like always. “You’re to stay here until I say otherwise,” he says, his voice flat with finality. “No garden. No windows.”
Panic spikes in my chest. “You can’t–”
“I can,” he says, his hand tightening around the doorframe. “And I will. If you ever want to see sunlight again, Raisa, you’ll do as I say.”
He slams the door behind him, the sound echoing against the stone like a landslide rushing down the mountainside.
The lock clicks, the sound so heavy it could anchor a ship.
The silence that follows is absolute.
I stand in the dark, the only motion the trembling in my hands, and listen to the thud of his boots as he descends the stairs. Each step takes him farther away.
I want to scream, to rage, to rip the world open and claw my way out. But I just stand there, pressed against the wall, waiting for the cold to swallow me whole.
The quiet doesn’t last.
It never does.
Once the echoes of Father’s anger have faded down the stairwell, the dark closes in tighter. I pace the threadbare rug, wearing circles into the pile until the only thing between me and the cold stone is the fragile skin of my bare feet. Every time I cross the tiny room, I reach for the window. It’s barely bigger than an arrow-slit, meant only to bring in air, but I hope against reason that an escape may have materialized anyway, that I might slip through the thin glass like a ghost.
But I’m as trapped as ever, locked in Father’s tower of secrets and lies.
I press my forehead to the wall beside the tiny window, my breath fogging the tiny pane. On the other side, the world is still, the garden nothing more than a black smear broken by the jagged silhouettes of hedges and statuary. Farther out, the forest looms, a deeper darkness, unbroken and wild.
I peel a flake of paint from the wall, rolling it between my thumb and forefinger. I wonder if it’s possible to dig through the stone with my nails, or if I’d just bleed out before I made a dent.
Father’s words rattle in my ears, a hive of accusations and warnings. Monsters. Killers. I can’t decide if he’s afraid for me orofme, and the not-knowing gnaws at the edges of my calm.
My pulse hasn’t slowed since he left.
I close my eyes, listening for something—anything—to drown out my thoughts. In the distance, a church bell tolls. Closer, there’s the whisper of a branch scraping the roof. But that’s it. No voices, no laughter, not even a dog barking in the night.
It’s like the world has turned its back on this place.
I let myself imagine the forest as more than a prison. I imagine the way the air tastes, the way the leaves feel under my feet. I imagine running, unbound, until my lungs burn and my muscles shake. Until there’s nothing left of me but heat and wildness.
For a second, I can almost feel the wind against my face and the animal panic of freedom.
A soft thud brings me back. I open my eyes.
A raven perches on the small ledge outside the window, its feathers slicked tight against its body. It cocks its head, fixing me with a gaze as sharp as any blade.
I stare back, unwilling to break the silence. The bird doesn’t move. It just watches me, its eyes black and unblinking.
Another lands, and then another, until all three stand shoulder to shoulder, pressed so tightly together in the small space that their wings overlap. The moonlight catches in their feathers, turning them to polished obsidian, cold and perfect.
I rest my palm on the window, only a breath away from their claws.
“What do you want?” I whisper.
The center bird spreads its wings, just a little, then tucks them back in, as if the gesture means something.
I press harder against the glass, my nose almost touching. “Are you here to spy on me? Or just to mock?”
