Zoraya
The air in the dungeon was thick and damp, the kind of air that clung to your skin and made it impossible to forget where you were.
The scent of blood, rusted metal, and the faint tang of mildew lingered like a memory you couldn’t wash away.
My feet made almost no sound on the cold stone floor as I followed Queen Melody deeper inside, the torchlight flickering against the damp walls and casting shadows that danced like ghosts in the corners of my eyes.
And then… I saw it.
The cage.
For a heartbeat, I froze where I stood.
My breath caught in my throat so sharply it hurt, my fingers curling into the fabric of my dress without me realizing it.
It was the same kind of cage I had grown up in.
Every sharp, cold bar was a mirror of the prison that had defined my childhood.
A
