But my anger dissolves the moment I reach the top and find her.
She’s lost in her own world, eyes closed, her slender fingers moving over the keys as if possessed. And the music they’re creating—I’ve never heard anything like it. It holds me frozen, like some malevolent magic.
I don’t even realize when the melody begins reaching places inside me I’ve never wanted touched, and I can’t stop it. It pushes against my resistance, forcing me to see into the depths of darkness I’m terrified of.
It forces me to confront how much I still fear it—even after living in it for years.How terrified I am of these endless nights that fate has condemned me to, with no promise of dawn.
The melody battles with my fractured soul, offering hope that the suffering might end. And then the music shifts, fulfilling its promise—wrapping around my shattered pieces, touching them with something like veneration.
And then she opens her eyes.
Their warmth makes the ice inside me feel even colder. I want to capture it, to trap it, but I know it’s not for me.
Her warmth isn’t mine to keep. I’m not capable of holding it. I’m not strong enough to let myself believe there could be a place for me—not even in the smallest corner of her heart.
The music stops, but I remain rooted, trapped in her gaze.
She rises from the bench and takes small steps toward me.
“Did I wake you up?” she asks softly.
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Why?” She tilts her head, studying me.
“I don’t sleep early.”
“But you wake up early. That’s not good for your health,” she frets.
I look away from her bright face.
“Don’t worry about your captor’s health, Princess.”
“Why not?”
My eyes find their way back to her golden ones. They can’t seem to settle anywhere else while she’s in the room.
“I might like it too much.”
Her lips part slightly. Her dark pupils widen within golden irises. A hint of red blooms across her pale skin. My hand rises, tempted to touch her beautiful face, but I stop it, clenching my hand into a fist.
“I don’t mind you liking it.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Why do you have so many questions?” Especially the ones I can’t answer.
She smiles. “I’m just a curious person.”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
She raises her brows. “Do you want the cat to die?”
I frown. “No.”
She grins. “Then curiosity won’t kill the cat. And she can ask all the questions she wants.”
