The corridors of the Stone Palace were quiet that night — painfully quiet. The kind of silence that wasn't peaceful, but heavy, suffocating. The torches along the walls flickered weakly, their flames bending toward her as if even the fire pitied her.
Isabella's footsteps crunched softly against the stone path, the faint echo carried by the cool night air. Each step felt heavier than the last, her heart thudding against her ribs as though trying to break free.
Her fingers clutched the edge of her soft-woven dress, bunching the fabric tightly in her fists as if it could hold her together. The thin material clung to her skin, still damp from her earlier tears, and the cold breeze slipped through it mercilessly. She hunched her shoulders slightly, not from the chill, but from the weight sitting in her chest — that aching, suffocating heaviness she couldn't seem to shake.
