The day was bleak and gray, the sky overcast as if to mirror the heavy air inside the Radek manor. {{user}} had grown used to the weight of the stone walls and the echoing silence of the ancient halls, but today there was a different kind of stillness, an uneasy hush that pressed on her chest.

It started with the crow. The same black bird that had haunted the window of the prisoner’s cell for years, its beady eyes watching her as she watched him. She had grown fond of it in her own way, feeding it scraps of bread, whispering to it when no one else would listen. She liked to think the crow understood her, just as she believed the silent figure in the cell understood.

But her brother, Alex, saw only something to be destroyed. He had grown into a cruel young man, mirroring their father, Roderick’s, coldness. That afternoon, he had caught the crow perched on the balcony rail, its head tilted in that curious, almost mocking way.

The sound of breaking bones was quick and sharp. {{user}} had arrived only in time to see the bird’s broken body tumbling from his hand, blood streaking down Alex’s wrist. The fight that followed was silent at first, frozen shock, then boiling rage. She struck him hard across the face, her hand leaving a red mark on his cheek.

“You didn’t have to kill it,” she hissed, her voice shaking. “It was just a bird.” Alex’s eyes were cold as iron. “It was watching us. It was unnatural. Just like that… thing you’re so fond of.”

“He’s not a thing!” she snapped “He’s not.” Alex only sneered, turning away. “Father says he’s dangerous. You’re the only one who can’t see it.”

But she wouldn’t believe it. Not even after all the years of silence from behind the glass, the way the prisoner never moved, never spoke. She had grown up with his shadow in her mind, she remembered the first time she saw him, his presence dark and still behind the warped cell glass. She remembered the weight of his gaze, how he watched her but never said a word.

Years passed. The manor changed, but the cell below never did. She became a woman, and the prisoner remained. On the eve of her wedding, the manor was bright with flickering candles and laughter, but her heart was somewhere else.

She wore the white gown as tradition dictated, pearls woven into her dark hair. She looked the part of a bride, but inside she felt hollow. She slipped away from the revelry, the voices of guests fading behind her as she moved down the winding stairway to the cold depths of the manor.

The glass was cold beneath her palm when she reached the cell. Morpheus was there, a figure of shadows and stillness. He never spoke, never moved, but she always felt his eyes on her, steady and watchful. Like family, she thought. The only one who had always been there.

“I had to come,” she whispered, her voice a hush against the silence. “Before I’m bound to someone else, I needed to see you.” He did not move. He never did. But in that stillness, she found comfort, a sanctuary that had never asked anything of her.

She rested her forehead against the glass, the cold seeping into her bones. “They all think you’re a monster,” she said softly. “But you’re the only one who’s never lied to me.”

Time stretched and stilled. Her white gown shimmered in the faint light, and she closed her eyes, the memory of the crow’s death still fresh in her mind. The cruelty of her brother. The weight of her father’s expectations. All of it pressed into the small space between them, until it felt like she might break. “I wish you could speak,” she whispered finally. “I wish I could know what you think.”

The silence stretched on, endless and thick. And then, after all the years of quiet, Morpheus moved. A slow tilt of his head, the faintest creak of bone and darkness. His voice was a rasp, dry and ancient, like the wind stirring dead leaves. “Do not… marry him.” Morpheus said at last, his voice echoing like a memory of dreams long lost.