It was dark in here.
Cold.
Not the kind of cold that bit or burned, but the kind that settled in quietly — like a secret told too often, worn smooth by repetition, then quietly forgotten.
It filled the cracks between Selena's bones, lined her throat, pressed into her spine until she forgot what warmth even felt like. It didn't scream. It didn't sing. It just… waited. And so did she.
The room had no name, no memory, and no mercy. It had been her entire world for as long as she had been alive, at least in this life — a world shaped from four stone walls, a ceiling veined with slow, dripping moisture, and a floor too cold to sleep on.
There was no window, no door she had ever seen open, and no light except the pale glow that sometimes shimmered faintly from the ceiling cracks like an afterthought.
