A Good News

When my maid first pushed open the door, her eyes widened in shock. There I lay—naked and unmoving, chained loosely to the headboard of a disordered bed.

The once-pristine linens were now marred by dark, seeping streaks of blood that had dried into crimson stains. The morning light, pale and uncertain through the closed shutters, only served to highlight every jagged mark of violence.

In that charged silence, my attendants exchanged uncertain glances, their eyes heavy with unspoken questions. None dared utter a word—the room itself seemed to mourn the violence that had stolen my strength.

I could not stand on my own; each attempt to rise only sent waves of agony radiating through my battered limbs. With tender urgency, the maids circled around me, their gentle hands hesitant as they lifted my fragile form from the debris of the night's horror.