Her chest tightened.
A sharp, unbearable pain radiated through her body — the delayed shock of the day's abuse hitting her all at once.
voices rose;
"ELA!"
"Wake up!"
"Ela, open your eyes!"
But her vision dimmed like a candle guttering in the wind.
Her last breath trembled out of her lips.
Everything went silent. And Ela's world went dark forever.
Ela's death did not arrive with a scream.
It came quietly, like a light being switched off in an empty room.
The doctors tried.
The ambulance wailed through the night.
Her father carried her in his arms with shaking hands, repeating her name like a prayer he hoped God would suddenly hear.
But the damage was too deep.
Too violent.
Too long ignored.
Internal bleeding.
Shock.
Severe trauma.
"She was brought too late," the doctor said softly.
"I'm sorry."
Her parents froze.
And Mira…
Mira lowered her eyes, arranging her expression with careful precision:
the perfect mask of grief.
But the faint curl at the corner of her mouth
small, hidden, quickly smoothed
gave away everything.
Zius wailed until his voice broke.
He clung to Ela's cold hand, begging her to wake up, promising he would be good, promising he would eat on time, study more, listen better
as if any of these things could pull her
back.
Ela never moved again.