The objects in the room were so simple, so bare, that words could hardly describe them. An old wardrobe, an old dressing table, and a small, cold bed. Everything carried the marks of poverty and neglect.
As darkness fell, everything around her seemed to shrink. The silence was so intense that she could hear every heartbeat, every breath.
Thanh Nha curled up in the corner of the room, her eyes staring into the distance as if searching for a glimmer of hope. Family… do they know I'm here? The thought of her family overwhelmed her with grief, and tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks.
She cried, cried until there were no tears left. Her body felt drained, yet her heart remained unbearably heavy.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, followed by a harsh, grating voice.
"Dead or deaf? Why don't you open the door?"
Startled, Thanh Nha quickly wiped away her tears and forced herself to remain calm as she went to open the door.
Standing before her was a middle-aged woman with a perpetually sour face, her eyes piercing as if they could see right through Thanh Nha.
The woman cleared her throat, her voice sharp and venomous.
"Are you dead or just deaf? I've been calling forever! Just seeing your face makes me sick. Next time you pull this, don't blame this old woman for not bringing you food."
"I don't know why the master even makes me serve someone like you." She rolled her eyes, her gaze dripping with contempt, her tone as if she were the true mistress of the mansion.
"I'm not hungry," Thanh Nha said weakly, too drained to even think about food.
Hearing that, the woman's neck stiffened as she screeched, her voice sharp like a whip.
"Is your mouth just there for decoration? If you don't want to eat, say it! Don't make this old woman climb up and down all day. This house has plenty of work to do. Who has time to wait on you?"
She snorted coldly, her disdainful eyes sweeping Thanh Nha from head to toe.
"You think you're the lady of the house? Or some kind of princess? Pathetic. Let me tell you, if you refuse to eat, I'll make it so you get one meal every three days! Saves me a lot of effort."
Her eyes were still full of contempt, as if Thanh Nha was nothing more than discarded trash. She slapped the tray in her hands with annoyance, turned to leave, and spat out one last venomous remark.
"If you want to die, hurry up and die. Don't make this old woman climb up and down. It's exhausting."
Her scolding lashed at Thanh Nha like a storm. Finally, the woman sneered, slammed the door shut, and, before leaving, cut off the power, plunging the room into complete darkness.
Thanh Nha sat silently, staring at the door that had just closed. Only when the bone-chilling cold seeped into her skin did she quietly drag herself back to the bed.
She hugged the pillow tightly, searching for a faint trace of warmth.
A week had passed since she awoke in this body—a week that felt like a century. Sometimes she wondered if she was paying for some sin, or if this was an endless nightmare. No matter how many times she asked herself, no answer came.
If heaven hasn't let me die, then I must live, to find a way out of this hell, she told herself.
The air in the room was so cold it felt like it could freeze everything solid, the temperature dropping to four or five degrees. At night, the cold became unbearable, her limbs losing sensation, her entire body turning into ice.
If this continued, she knew she wouldn't last long. Will I die from the cold, instead of hunger, pain, or despair?
She pulled the thin blanket over her bare legs, sighing deeply. Perhaps the previous Thanh Nha had been unable to withstand such torment and sought death, only for fate to cruelly drag her soul into this body to take her place in punishment.
Thanh Nha curled up, hugging her knees against the wall, her eyes lost, her lips moving silently in absolute loneliness.
The growl of her stomach shattered the silence. She rubbed it, trying to soothe the hunger clawing inside her. Two days had passed without food; what was brought to her was spoiled, foul-smelling scraps that the housekeeper had carelessly tossed in.
She forced a smile, but it was so sorrowful it could chill the heart.
Thanh Nha… you managed to live in this hell for so long, I truly admire you. But I don't understand—living like this, can it still be called living?
Her eyes wandered around the freezing room, a creeping sensation that invisible eyes were always watching her. Every corner, every crack made her shiver. Suddenly, the image of that man—the one who was her so-called husband—flashed in her mind.
That man was terrifying, especially his eyes—devoid of any humanity, deep like an abyss, so cold that just looking into them stole her breath away.
He hadn't appeared since that day. She thought maybe she had escaped that haunting gaze. At least, his absence gave her a little peace of mind.
But will he really let me go? The thought made her shudder. Hugging her trembling shoulders, her eyes darted to the door, terrified it would burst open at any moment and those lifeless eyes would stare straight at her.
A soft sound startled her, her eyes turning toward the window. Outside, a white dove perched on the sill, its beak holding a crimson rose.
Slowly, she stood, her body aching from unhealed wounds, each step unsteady as she limped closer. Her hand trembled as she unlatched the window. The moment it opened, a gust of cold wind rushed in, making her shiver.
The dove didn't fly away. Tilting its head, it looked at her, still holding the rose in its beak. Its black eyes watched her, as if waiting. She reached out, and it gently dropped the rose onto the windowsill.