"So, what are you planning to do now?" May asked.
"I will leave," Amara replied.
"When?" May pressed.
"Tonight," Amara answered.
"Tonight? You mean now? Do you really think you can escape? They've chained you," May said, disbelief coloring her tone.
"The real problem is I need my magic stone—to erase my existence," Amara stated, her voice steady.
"What is that? Does something like that even exist?" May questioned, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
"Yes. And it's costly. But I have a friend who can help me escape if I can get it," Amara explained.
"But haven't they taken everything from you? How can you retrieve it?" May countered, doubt creeping in.
"No. I actually hid it—in our lady's room. In her dressing room," Amara said quietly. "You need to get it for me, May. Then I can escape."
"You want me to get it? Wait... okay... I'll do it. But where exactly?" May asked, her resolve building.
"In her blue dress," Amara replied.
May nodded and hurried out, closing the door behind her.
Amara broke the chains binding her wrists and walked to the window, gazing into the night. "I'm tired of lying," she whispered. She opened a hidden drawer where the magic stone gleamed faintly in the darkness. She had stashed it there for emergencies, knowing no one would ever think to look in a room her master rarely used.
"They'll follow May," she murmured. "So I had to lie."
Still, the thought of leaving brought a dull ache to her chest. "It's always painful," she mumbled.
She glanced into the mirror. "Coward. As always," she muttered at her reflection.
"I need to hurry. He'll follow May—I have ten minutes at most," she whispered, moving toward the window.
But suddenly, the door swung open. Amara froze, bracing herself for a fight. She turned sharply, ready for anything.
"You think—" she began, but her voice faltered. A boy stood in the doorway, his blue eyes strikingly familiar. The little lord, she thought, her heart stuttering.
"You should leave," the boy said coldly, though his small hands trembled. Blood stained his palm.
Amara stared, silent, her breath catching.
"I know you will," he said again, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes.
"Im sorry but I'm not your mother," Amara said sharply, urgency breaking through her calm.
She turned toward the window, ready to jump
"I hope you die," the boy said flatly.
"I hope," Amara whispered, her voice hollow. Yet her feet remained frozen to the floor.
"Useless woman," the boy murmured.
Amara met his gaze, locking eyes with him—two reflections of the same sorrow.