The room was bathed in soft, golden light, filtering through sheer curtains that billowed gently in the warm breeze. The walls were painted a pale cream, adorned with delicate floral patterns that seemed to dance in the sunlight. A vase of fresh wildflowers sat on the windowsill, their petals brushing against the glass like whispered secrets.
Meriem's eyes fluttered open.
For a long moment, she simply lay still, her gaze unfocused, her mind struggling to piece together the fragments of consciousness that had scattered like leaves in the wind. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar—smooth, white, unmarked by the cracks and stains and mould that had adorned the ceiling of her prison for so many years.
She blinked.
The room came into focus.
It was beautiful. Warm. Inviting. Everything her
