Her fingers slowly unclenched from the sheets.
"I begged. I endured. I tried to be gentle."
Her voice thinned. "And it earned me this."
She leaned back against the bed, staring at the ceiling as if it might answer her.
The canopy loomed above her like a cage, ornate, beautiful and suffocating.
"If I die quietly," she said, "they'll call it a tragedy."
Her mouth curved into a crooked smile.
"But if I fight… they'll call me a monster."
The chuckle returned, steadier now.
"Either way," she breathed, "I die."
She pushed herself upright with a wince, spine screaming in protest, and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
Every movement hurt, but she welcomed it. Pain meant she was still alive.
Still breathing.
Still capable of choosing.
Her gaze drifted to the mirror across the room.
The woman who stared back at her was pale, hair disheveled, eyes ringed with red, but there was something new there, something sharp that hadn't existed before.
Resolve.
