VIOLET SWAN

ITALY

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I feel like my arms are burning from the weight of hanging for so long, like every muscle in my body is slowly tearing apart and my entire body tingles, numb from staying in the same position for hours—chained to the cold iron hanging from the ceiling and walls. I feel completely broken, not just physically, although that’s starting to happen too.

My mind keeps repeating the same phrase over and over:

*“I’m going to die and I’ll never see my mother again.”* If I had pushed harder, if I had fought with more strength, everything would be so different by now. But there’s no “after” anymore—only the past remains.

The metallic sound of the door opening cuts through the terrible silence that has settled in this place, like a knife slicing through skin.

With difficulty, I make out two figures entering, wrapped in shadows, and I feel fear rise inside me.

One of them is the blond man with that crazed gaze, the one whose suffocating aura seems ready to rip the a