They moved like shadows – low to the ground, deliberate, almost slow. Not from fear. From memory. Every step had been rehearsed in silence, long before this night.
The corridor smelled of wet stone and boiled waste. Water dripped from the pipes above, puddling on cracked floors. A single torch flickered on the wall, lighting rusted chains and dark stains on the stone. Red or brown. It didn't matter.
They didn't speak. Talking was for people who still believed someone was listening.
The taller one led, knees bent, hands flat against the cold floor. She paused, listening. Down the hallway to the left – the snap of a whip.
Once. Then again. Then again.
"P-please stop! I didn't do anything!"
Another snap. Then silence.
The smaller girl shifted. She didn't flinch. Just waited for the next crack to rise again before they slipped past the opening.
They didn't look. They already knew no one would help him - neither would they...
Sixteen years leaves no softness.
A boy, maybe their age, knelt beside the post, offering crumbs to a thin dog, whispering something to it. When he noticed them, he froze. Wide-eyed. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched them disappear.
They took a sharp turn down a narrow chute – too tight for most bodies, but they were small. Starvation had shaped them that way. Their bones could slide where guards couldn't. They'd used that before – for hiding, for listening. Tonight it was for leaving.
The walls narrowed further, forcing them to crawl. A low grate blocked the far end. The taller girl pressed her back against one wall and kicked it free. The clang echoed through the stone. Both girls froze.
Footsteps.
They dropped flat.
A guard's voice echoed somewhere nearby. Slurred. Laughing.
"…if they run, I hope they run west. Let the wolves sort them out."
His boots dragged past, never close enough to see them. They waited. Ten counts. Then moved again.
They passed the kitchens. Women stirred thick sludge in iron pots. The air hung heavy with rot. One girl – her hair half-burned off – sat motionless by a vat, hands curled against her chest. Her eyes followed the two as they passed, but she said nothing.
"Left," the taller girl whispered. "There's a gap under the prep bench."
They dropped low, crawling through spilled grain and old bones. The bench led into a storage tunnel. Past the wood barrels, it turned sharp toward the yards.
A cough echoed – rough, wet, and close.
They stopped.
Boots.
A guard. Heavy steps on stone. A blade dragged behind.
"Get your damn pile moving or I'll light it where it lies!"
No reply.
They crouched still. Behind one barrel, the scent of vinegar made the younger girl's eyes water. She didn't blink.
The guard passed by. A moment. Another.
Gone.
Once the hallway cleared, they slipped out and moved on. Through a barred slit in the stone wall, they glimpsed the work pit below.
Dozens of bodies bent over black soil, wrists shackled together. A woman collapsed. No one stopped. One man stepped on her spine as he passed.
The overseer barked from above. "Dig, you sacks! Faster than that!"
Another torch was shoved into the soil. Laughter followed. Something cracked. The smell rose – sharp, choking.
They crouched under the window. Still breathing. Still silent.
When the noise moved on, they darted left, slipping into the old infirmary.
It hadn't been used in years – not since the plague ran through the north wing. No one cleaned it. Doors sagged from rotted hinges. Inside, cots leaned like broken teeth. A black stain darkened the far wall. Something had clawed there before dying.
The girls moved quickly. Past the gurneys, over broken glass. The smaller one pointed.
"Servants' hall's this way," she whispered.
They crept through.
This part smelled different. Mold. Rot. Old smoke. Linens hung stiff on ropes across the beams. Beneath one, a child's body curled up in rags. Skin was gone. Just bones and cloth. No one had come in months.
The older girl paused near a side door. She tilted her head.
"Laundry chute," she said. "It still opens."
They found it behind a rusted crate. The hatch groaned as she forced it open. Mold slicked the sides. Iron rungs climbed ten feet to the top. The younger girl climbed first. No hesitation. The other followed.
Halfway up, a sharp clang echoed below. A latch slamming shut.
They stopped.
No voices followed.
Just rats.
The older girl kept climbing.
At the top, the grate stuck. She pushed – slow. Controlled.
It gave.
A gust of cold hit their faces.
She waited. Listened.
Nothing.
Then the taller girl said, "Clear."
They pulled themselves through and dropped behind a collapsed shed.
They were outside the wall now – behind the crumbled remains of what once held firewood. The main compound loomed behind, taller and darker than anything in sight. Thick smoke curled from the tower chimney. Somewhere inside, another scream pierced the air. A short one.
A whistle snapped. Then another.
They ducked lower. Still no alarm.
Ahead, the outer fence – iron, spiked, twisted near the bottom where roots had lifted the ground. A gap. Not wide, but enough.
The girls crouched behind the rubble.
The smaller one touched a scrape on her leg. Shallow. She smeared the blood into the grass without a word.
The taller girl leaned out just enough to scan the fence line. No guards. Not yet.
"Next shift," she whispered. "We wait."
They stayed still.
A torch flickered far off across the yard. Then vanished behind the western shed. Another patrol.
The night air was colder than they expected. It pulled at their skin through the thin fabric of their dresses – pale linen, stained at the hems, puffed sleeves worn through at the seams.
They didn't shiver.
They didn't speak again.
Somewhere inside, a heavy door slammed shut - the same sound that always came before shift change. The clatter of chains followed, slow and uneven, like someone being dragged.A man's sob echoed. Another voice barked something sharp, too far to make out.
The noise faded into the background - iron striking stone, fire crackling in the towers, boots pacing behind the wall.
Still inside.
Still breathing.
Almost free.