The walls had become a tomb of suffocating silence. In the days following the grand opening of the Aurora, the Duke had systematically stripped Liera from her freedom by trapping her in this room.
Liera sat on the cold floor, her hands folded tightly in her lap to hide the tremors that shook her frame. The room was cold, but the chill she felt was deeper than the temperature. It was the feeling of being watched by eyes that weren't there.
Verona must be worried, Liera thought, her heart aching. She's sitting in that beautiful boutique or her manor, waiting for her, and finding nothing. She thinks I've abandoned her, or worse, she thinks I'm dead. The thought of Verona's grief was the only thing that kept Liera's own fear from paralyzing her.
I have to get out, Liera whispered to the empty room. If I can just reach the gardens, or no, my room, the mirror.
