This place is breaking me.
Not all at once. Not violently.
Slowly. Gently. Like erosion.
And I don’t know how to stop it.
I sink down onto the floor, back against the wall, and pull my knees to my chest.
Time passes.
I think.
I don’t know how much.
At some point, I fall asleep. Or maybe I just close my eyes. It’s hard to tell the difference here.
When I open them again, there’s something on the table.
Clothing.
I stare at it for a long moment, not moving.
It wasn’t there before. Just like the blanket. Just like the mirror.
He’s been here. Or sent something. While I was sleeping or not looking or—
I don’t know.
I push to my feet slowly, approaching the table like it might explode.
The fabric is dark. Almost black, but with a hint of deep purple when the silver firelight catches it. Soft. Beautiful in a way that makes my stomach turn.
I reach out, fingers brushing the material.
It’s silk. Or something like it. Smoother than anything I’ve ever touched. The kind of fabric that costs more than I’ve ever had.
There’s a dress. Long, flowing, with a neckline that would sit just off my shoulders. And underneath it, simpler clothes—a shirt, pants, both in the same dark, beautiful fabric.
He wants me to wear this.
Wants me to look like I belong here. In this chamber. In this cage dressed as sanctuary.
My fingers curl into the silk, and for a second—just a second—I imagine it. Putting it on. Feeling that softness against my skin instead of the rough, torn clothes I’m wearing now.
It would feel good.
That’s the worst part. It would feelgood, and he knows it.
I jerk my hand back like I’ve been burned.
“No.”
The word comes out harder than I expected. Louder.
I grab the clothing—all of it—and throw it across the room.
It lands in a heap near the far wall, dark fabric pooling on black stone.
