Three Paths

Sinclair sat on the edge of her bed, enveloped in the shadowy gloom of the castle's stone walls, desperately clutching a picture frame that held her son's smiling face.

A single tear broke free from her weary eyes, tracing a path down her cheek. In the aftermath of her husband's death, her son had been her beacon of light—now, that light was extinguished, leaving behind an unbearable void.

The castle felt more like a prison, suffocating under the weight of her grief.

Thoughts of ending her own life flickered through her mind like the swirling autumn leaves outside her window.

Lately, waves of excruciating headaches had surged through her, each one more violent than the last, making her feel as if her head might shatter like glass.

Fragments of the past surged into her mind like crashing waves, leaving her utterly bewildered as she pondered why those memories had ever slipped away in the first place.