Dreams Of Him Throught Blisters

He would've seen the broken burglary, the unhinged window, the dangerous climb—and he wouldn't have been merciful. No, he would've known what she tried to do. He would've tightened the shackles around her freedom—locked her somewhere darker, colder—somewhere without windows at all.

She clenched her jaw.

I was desperate. That wasn't me.

But it was. For one breath, one terrifying moment, she'd longed for her captor's presence—because fear did that. It twisted the mind, blurred the lines between enemy and savior.

Now, she wished for something far more useful—a rope.

If only there were ropes scattered about—thick, sturdy ropes she could gather, tie together, and lower herself down the wall properly this time. She imagined it, wild and ridiculous as it was—sneaking out like a thief in the night, slipping away unseen.

But there were no ropes.

Just stone walls, an empty floor, and a ruined dress.

And then—her stomach growled.