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A candle for every Daughter who didn’t make it out.

There were too many.

The room grew warmer.

Brighter.

Full.

But it didn’t feel like comfort. No. It felt like absence.

You deserve happiness too.

The words pressed in. Too loud. Too close. Spreading like a bruise until it ached. For a second—just a second—I let myself imagine it. What it’d feel like. What it’d mean. My thumb cramped, curling under my palm bringing me back to reality. To the reality of me. No. I stared at the deformed bones of my hand. Not for me. Never for me.

The flame flickered.

And I stood there—surrounded by light—feeling more alone than I ever have.

2

NYSSA

“Has anyone seen my goddamn curler? Stacey! STACEY—DO YOU HAVE MY CURLER?”

I groaned and dragged the covers higher over my head.

Too early.

Way too damn early.

“Are you really okay with this?” Another voice snapped. “Being handed off again? We may as well be back there!”

“Shut up!” Someone yelled back. “At least this time they’re not locking us in rooms!”

“STACEY, IF YOU DON’T GIVE ME MY CURLER BACK I SWEAR TO GOD⁠—”

A crash.

A scream.

Laughter—too loud, too sharp.

Don’t open your eyes, Nyssa.

Don’t you dare.

I pressed the pillow harder over my face, but it didn’t block it out. Nothing ever did. Not the noise. Not the edge of panic running through the house like a current.

“Just…give it back,” someone called, softer now. “Please. I just want to get through today.”

That broke something in me.

I exhaled slowly.

Of course it did.

It wasn’t chaos.