The cottage door creaked as it opened.
The familiar scent of damp wood and cold ashes welcomed her back like an old memory.
She stood in the doorway for a long moment, gazing at the cradle in the corner — the cradle that had so often drawn her eyes to the rope and the bridge.
Now it was just a piece of furniture.
Still full of grief, but no longer a summons.
She stepped inside, moving as though the air itself might shatter if disturbed.
Her shawl slipped from her shoulders and fell onto the wooden chair by the hearth.
She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed and sat there, silent, as the pale morning light slowly filled the room.
I stood beside her in the quiet of her mind, feeling her heartbeat — fragile, uneven, but alive.
Her thoughts moved like slow water over stones.
"I don't know what comes next. I don't know if I can keep going. But I'm still here. I'm still breathing."
She lifted her face toward the window.
Outside, a bird trilled a thin, uncertain song.
Her lips parted, as if to whisper back, but no sound came.
For the first time since I had awoken in her life, I felt the current of despair loosen its grip — not gone, but no longer dragging her down.
The voice — the one that had once mocked and threatened me — murmured faintly, as if from a great distance.
"Two souls turned from the edge. Five still remain."
The room filled slowly with light, pale and clean.
Anara did not move for a long time.
She simply sat there, watching the morning grow brighter, and let the first dawn of her new choice wash over her.