"Ugh…"
Irene fluttered her eyes open. The damp smell of concrete entered her nose at once. Water dripped from somewhere in the corner, with each drop echoing through the cramped darkness.
She pushed herself up, disoriented for a moment, until she remembered where she was.
"Vanitas…!"
The rage in her chest rose so quickly it nearly choked her. She was imprisoned beneath the Imperial Palace, her own childhood home.
Cold iron bit into her wrists when she moved. She tugged once, twice, only to feel the reinforced chains refuse to budge.
She clenched her jaw.
It had only been four days since she was dragged into this place to suffer at the hands of Vanitas, the man she once trusted. Every time she woke up in this hellhole, the same disorientation struck her, the same nauseating wave that made her head spin.
It was a trauma she relived every morning consecutively.
