"Some nightmares come when we sleep.Others are patient enough to wait until we open our eyes."— Ella the Silvertongued Princess
Dove.
On the thirtieth day, the madame returned.
She swept into my haven with the finality of a closing cage door, her cane tapping sharply against the stone.
"Up," she barked.
I obeyed, clutching the loose shift they'd given me tighter around my ribs. My bad leg throbbed as I limped after her.
There was only one room left open on the second floor. A small mercy — and perhaps a small cruelty.It had a window.
A tall, narrow thing carved into the stone, letting in salt air and brittle shards of sunlight.The room itself was humble: a modest bed sagging under dusty linens, a battered carpet, too many mismatched pillows heaped against the wall. A heavy tapestry veiled the door — not a barrier, but at least a shroud.
It felt... almost private.
The madame's sharp eyes flicked over me one last time.
"You'll start earning your keep," she said, pointing with her cane to the corner of the room. A lopsided tower of cleaning supplies teetered there — a mop, a splintering bucket, cracked bars of soap.
"Every morning. You'll scrub the halls. Be grateful it's only that."
I nodded.
She left without ceremony, her limp fading down the corridor like the peeling away of a scab.
Alone, I set about making the space mine. I shook out the linens, sending clouds of dust swirling. I propped the window open, letting the tapestry ripple like a half-forgotten flag.
For the first time in a month, I slept somewhere other than the baths.
And that night, sleep betrayed me.
The dream came swift and cruel.
Golden eyes blazed through the dark — not soft, not kind. Hungry.
I woke with a gasp to find Raven sprawled across my floor, her face bathed in blood, her body convulsing with silent sobs.
"Why?" she whispered, her voice breaking like a cracked bell."You promised."
Her tears became rivers of crimson, leaking from her eyes, nose, mouth — every seam splitting open, until she was drowning in her own sorrow.
Her scream — not loud, but endless — shattered me awake again.
This time, truly awake.
Alone.
The room was cold and empty.Raven was nowhere.
But the memory of her broken body clung to my skin like a second layer.
I didn't sleep again.
I sat upright, knees tucked to my chest, watching the thin grey light seep through the window as the world slowly clawed its way toward morning.
At first light, I crept from the bed, grabbing the bucket and mop.
A new task. A new routine. A reason to move.
The halls were deathly quiet as I made my way toward the baths — my old sanctuary, now foreign and cold.
I pushed the heavy door open — and dropped everything.
The bucket clattered across the floor.
Raven sat slumped by the rim of the hot spring, her back to me. Blood marred the pale curve of her shoulder.
I stumbled toward her, heart in my throat.
"Raven!" I cried, voice raw with terror.
She flinched violently at the sound, twisting to face me.
Her face—
Gods, her beautiful face.
Swollen. Broken. A jagged cut carved down her cheek like a mockery of a tear. Her nose was crooked, split wide across the bridge.
But it was the eyes that undid me — the hollow devastation swimming in their depths. And then the flash of desperate recognition when she saw me.
"Dove," she whimpered, voice breaking apart like driftwood in a storm."Oh Dove."
She collapsed against me, shuddering, the heat of her sobs scalding my skin through the thin fabric of my shift.
I wrapped my arms around her, whispering nonsense into her hair, running my fingers gently through the tangled strands.
We stayed like that until the world narrowed to the sound of her breathing and the hot salt of her grief.
When she could finally speak, she rasped against my collarbone:
"He came again."
I knew without asking who.
"The madame let him."A bitter laugh."I wasn't good enough anymore."
She fell silent then — the kind of silence you bleed out inside.
I shifted her gently, cradling her jaw with shaking hands.
"Do you want help setting your nose?" I asked softly.
A tiny nod.
Carefully, clumsily, I braced her head against my shoulder and snapped the cartilage back into place.She gasped — a soft, broken sound — but didn't pull away.
I packed the wound with cloth, wrapped her face with the adhesive strips kept hidden in the supply cupboard.Then I smuggled what little balm I had left across her wounds.
The crimson bloom in the bathwater caught my eye only belatedly.
At first, I thought it was dye from the herbs. But when I looked closer —Bite marks.
Torn skin.Torn dignity.
The water was pink with her blood.
And the scream that tore from my throat wasn't fear this time.
It was rage.It was sorrow.It was the sound of a cage rattling against its hinges.