Page 98 of Iron Roses
The heat vanishes. Just like that.
A shadow moves beside me.
Soft steps on the floorboards. She kneels beside me.
Giovanna. Her hand lifts gently and touches my hair. She doesn’t pull it back, just strokes it. Fingers brushing sweat-damp strands from my forehead.
“My poor baby.”
She smiles, and it doesn’t hurt to look at her.
“Do you want a hug?”
I do. Her arms come around me, careful not to jostle the bindings. She leans in, and her hand rests lightly between my shoulder blades.
Her body is warm. Not just skin-warm. Radiant. Like a hearth. My back relaxes. My shoulders release. My limbs go slack.
Her hand strokes my hair again.
The scent of her—rose water, something faintly citrus—fills my lungs.
My chin tilts forward. The pain fades behind a thick wall. It’s still there. I know that. But I don’t feel it.
Only her. Only the warmth.
And then—the dark comes. And I follow.
****
Day 2
My eyes open to metal. Wet steel against my cheek. My skin is sticky with sweat, lips stuck together. Every joint aches. My feet—
The nerves there still scream. Even without movement, they throb in waves.
I try to shift. The pain is instant.
Raw, open flesh stick to the cage floor. The skin at the arches feel loose, like it was peeling. I can’t see them. But I can smell it. The sour scent of scorched skin, the hint of blood where blisters must have broken.
I reach for the bars.
That is when I see the syringe.
A hand from outside. Quick. No face. Just the arm—shoved between the bars.
The needle slides into the bend of my arm. There is no warning.
The plunger depressed.
And I find myself in darkness again.
****
I wake to motion.
Two sets of hands again.
Dragging me from the cage.
