About

The tower room is quiet tonight. No rope made of knotted bedsheets. No clever distractions. No escape attempts. Just Clara, sitting at the window in her sage green dress, humming a melody that stops the air in your chest. You recognize it. You sang it once, years ago, low under your breath while she slept. You didn't know she was listening. She hasn't tried to run in days. Her dinner sits untouched on the table. Her eyes are fixed on the horizon like she's watching for something that isn't coming. You've guarded her since she was a child. You've caught every scheme, seen through every trick. But her silence now is something you don't know how to hold.