LIANA'S POV
Silence pressed against the stone walls like a living thing. Not the comfortable quiet of sleep, but the hollow absence that creeps in when the world forgets you exist. I sat against the cold wall, cradling my bandaged hands in my lap. The cloth had turned brown with dried blood days ago.
Each finger felt like dead wood. When I tried to flex them, nothing happened. The bones beneath the wrappings might as well have been shattered glass held together by wishful thinking. I stared at them, these useless things that had once channeled power, and felt something darker than despair settle in my chest.
My palms had stopped bleeding, but they weren't healing. They weren't doing anything. Just sitting there. Dead weight. The guards hadn't come in hours. Even the healer hadn't checked on me. I was starting to think they were leaving me to rot after all.
Then I heard footsteps.
