Maravelle sat alone in the cold, high chamber. The stone walls felt like they were closing in on her. A thin line of pale light came through the small window, falling across the floor. The air was damp, and somewhere outside, a raven cried once, then went quiet.
The room was nearly empty — only a narrow bed and an old wooden chair. Everything looked old and forgotten. When she had first woken up here days ago, she had been shocked. Now, she just stared at the door, still and silent.
A strange girl brought her food and water twice a day, never speaking more than a few words. Outside the castle, she could see a dark, endless forest stretching for miles.
Maravelle, who was once strong and proud — always dressed in fine clothes, and had her head held high — now looked weak and worn. Her hair was tangled, and her eyes had lost their shine.
Then, she heard a soft creak and the door slowly opened.
