There was no love left for me in this world.
Nothing remained.
Except—my wolf.
She hadn’t surrendered. She still burned with the desire to survive. To unearth the truth.
But how much longer could I endure this?
The wounds were too deep.
And soon, my vision would be lost forever. The attack from that day—acid splashed across my face, my head cracking against stone—had left damage my wolf couldn’t repair.
And Phyllis... If he had truly cared, maybe I wouldn’t feel this shattered.
They relocated me to a small, cramped space near the servants' quarters. I nearly laughed. That’s how low I’d sunk in their eyes. They had never truly seen me as one of their own.
Still, there was a bed.
It wasn’t like the ice-cold cell where I’d once been caged, forced to lie on the floor and wait for the end. Even during the harshest winters, my parents hadn’t spared me a blanket.
The only source of warmth had come from someone anonymous. A thick winter coat. A heavy wool blanket.
"The comfort of a killer? Not deserved," the guards had sneered.
A killer.
Was I truly one?
Some nights, I almost believed it. Almost wished it were real. Because then at least the suffering might have some justification.