The next morning, light trickled through the cracks in the collapsed vault.
Goethe hadn't slept a wink.
The hardened piece of bread lay nearby, gnawed down to its crust.
His stomach still begged for more, but that wasn't what kept his eyes open.
It was the monster.
He was afraid that if he slept, he'd see it again.
But on the other side of that fear… there was the little girl.
Meera.
She hadn't screamed. She hadn't run.
— "Why…? Why didn't you scream?"
Memories stirred — faces, names, traitors and comrades, poisoned kisses and apocryphal forbidden books.
All of it leading to this.
Deformed. Hiding like an animal.
And yet — she came back.
Tiny steps. Tiny basket.
The same little tune, softer this time.
— ♫ "…the sun's gone hiding in my soup, and the moon sat down on my knees…" ♫
Goethe jolted upright, the pain reminding him he was still alive.
She entered the tunnel — still unafraid.
— "You didn't move. That's good."
— "I… I couldn't."
