Darkness.
It pressed against her chest, suffocating. Suzan's eyes flew open, her breath ragged as though she had been drowning. Sweat clung to her skin, dampening the collar of her rough shirt. The cell was pitch black, the stale air clinging to her lungs, and still the voice echoed inside her head.
'Mine. You'll break for me. You're mine.'
Her whole body trembled. She curled into herself on the thin cot, arms around her shaking frame, knees pressed to her chest as though she could keep herself from splitting apart. Her stomach growled loud and ugly, a cruel reminder that the slice of bread she had tossed at a guard—mocking him with laughter—had been the last thing she'd eaten two mornings ago when the chase started. The memory would have amused her once.
That had been Suzan then: mischievous, defiant, laughing even when chained.
Now? Now it only hurt. She felt like ash in her own body.
Her body shook uncontrollably. She pulled her knees to her chest, her lips moved against the damp fabric of her sleeve, whispering the same prayer she had whispered every night since she fell here.
"It'll stop. It'll stop now. It'll stop soon. It'll finish now."
But the pain never did.
Every two days they dragged her into the court. Always the same questions. Always the same disbelief.
"How did you enter the vault?"
Suzan tilted her head, eyes gleaming with false mischief. "We found a glowing book in the children's section of the grand library. Isn't that suspicious? I mean, glowing books usually scream *secret passage*, don't they?"
The judge's frown deepened.
Suzan leaned forward, chin resting on her hand, as if bored. "Oh, and before you ask—yes, I did touch it. Of course I did! Who wouldn't? You'd have done the same. Don't glare at me like that."
Her words drew a few muffled laughs from guards stationed by the walls. But the humor died quickly. Suzan's gaze, almost without her meaning to, shifted to Lily.
Her friend stood at the side, trembling, hands clasped so tight her knuckles were white. "That's what happened," Lily said firmly, her voice cracking. "That's exactly what happened. Please—please let her go."
"Why was the book glowing?" the judge pressed.
Suzan forced a grin, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Maybe it was enchanted. Or maybe it was in love with me." She laughed, sharp and empty, before muttering, "Or maybe you should just ask the book yourself."
The laughter didn't come this time. Suspicion only deepened.
"Why did you enter the library at all?"
"We were curious," Suzan said with a shrug. "We heard about the relic, so we went searching. What else do children do but poke where they shouldn't?"
Her answer hung in the air. For some, she seemed like an innocent girl dragged too far by her curiosity. For others, she looked like a liar weaving stories with a smile.
Whenever her gaze met Lily's, Suzan's mask faltered. Sometimes she stared too long, searching her friend's eyes for an apology that would never come, until Lily broke down crying. Other times Suzan avoided her gaze entirely, and that hurt Lily even worse.
---
The third trial showed everyone what they had ignored.
Suzan shuffled forward in her chains, her frame frail, skin pale as wax beneath the torchlight. The girl who had once darted through markets and made even soldiers stumble now swayed like a drunk, leaning on one guard's arm for balance.
"Careful," the man muttered, steadying her.
"I'm fine," Suzan giggled weakly, voice too light, too airy. "Just… sleepy, hehe."
But her steps dragged, her ankles thin, her wrists like twigs beneath the shackles. Every eye in the hall saw the change, and no one could unsee it.
---
At night, the guards whispered among themselves.
"This isn't right," one said, his voice low, arms folded across his chest. "She's wasting away before our eyes."
"What if she's innocent?" another muttered. "What if we're killing her? And by the time they clear her, she'll already be…" He swallowed, unable to finish.
Silence.
Then Captain Arven's sigh cut through the dark. "You're forgetting your duty. Pity clouds judgment. The moment you let your heart sway, you lose the people's trust. Remember that."
But even his words carried no weight when he passed by Suzan's cell and found her curled into herself, whispering to the stone wall, "Please stop… please…"
---
The guards tried to help in small ways.
When food arrived, they slipped her extra portions. She would poke at it, nibble a bite, then shake her head. "No appetite." When she forced herself to eat, she sometimes coughed until she vomited, wiping her mouth with the back of her trembling hand.
She laughed after, weakly, voice rasping. "Guess my stomach's protesting prison food too."
When escorting her back from court, they slowed their pace, letting her take longer breaths in the open air. Her eyes softened with gratitude, and once she whispered, "Thanks…" before flashing that crooked grin again. "But don't go soft on me. If you do, I'll think you're actually nice."
They chuckled, but uneasily.
---
Day after day, her fight unraveled.
Her jokes grew rarer. Her laughter cracked, breaking into coughs or silence. Her playful answers twisted into sharp shouts.
"I didn't do it!" she screamed once in the courtroom, voice hoarse. "I didn't do *anything*! How long are you going to keep me here?"
Her body shook, chains rattling, tears burning hot. "Why won't you listen? Why won't anyone—"
The words broke into sobs, raw and helpless. Guards dragged her back, her cries echoing long after she was gone.
In her cell, she pressed her forehead to the cold bars, whispering into the night. Sometimes she muttered to herself. Sometimes to Lily in her head.
"Tomorrow. Maybe they'll believe me tomorrow."
Other nights, her whispers cracked apart. "Why… why won't anyone listen?"
The curse flared without mercy, waves of fire clawing through her chest until she curled up, trembling violently. Every time she prayed it would stop. Every time it only worsened.
---
The guards began to fall silent when they looked at her.
Once, she had been a spark—chaotic, impossible, untamable. Now she was fading before their eyes.
One younger guard, voice breaking, whispered to his comrades, "She's not gonna make it, is she?"
No one answered.
And still, Suzan tried to smile for them. Tried to joke. Tried to keep her head held high. But each attempt cracked more and more until her voice was nothing but a rasp, until her laughter had turned into desperate pleas, until everyone—guards, judges, and even Lily—could see for themselves.
The lively girl was dying away.
And no one could stop it.