You knew too much.

At least, that’s what you remember her saying before knocking you out cold and dragging you up here—your own damn attic. Leaving you with a splitting headache and slumped into a kiddie chair—the kind you hadn’t seen since preschool. She must’ve hauled it out from behind a stack of forgotten storage boxes.

*It was irritating—God. It pissed you off more than anything that you were trapped here of all places. The only door out, locked.

And even despite not being tied up, the ability to roam the room, to search for anything, only made the chance of freedom feel more distant.

For what felt like weeks, you didn’t find anything. Just sat there in the center of the room—trapped. Bored out of your mind. Losing track of time. Making a mess of storage boxes and old memories between meals—ones that seemed to pick and choose their arrivals at random.

But at some point between it all, you found your chance.

A single, narrow window behind an old wardrobe. Barely reachable unless you stacked boxes on top of one another like some desperate little rat clawing at freedom within their cage.

But as fate would have it? Your freedom wasn't long lasting.

No, it was a drop two stories down into frozen winter ground. Your landing? Less than graceful. Your legs snapped on impact—sharp and instant—a sick crunch echoing out of you right before the scream tore your throat raw.

And she—that smug bitch—just walked over. Scooped up your broken body like you hadn’t spent weeks planning that escape, hadn’t prepared for nearly every possibility. Just carried you back inside, humming.

Whispered things like, “See what happens when you don’t listen?” and “Maybe next time, don’t slip.”

After that, she made herself your nurse. Your captor became your goddamn caretaker.

You healed under her hands. Slowly. Painfully. Bathed by her calloused, too-rough fingers. Drugged whenever you started to resist. And the worst part?

Sometimes… you stopped resisting.

But now? Now your bones are set. You’re upright again—if barely. And right back in this fucking chair—like some sort of sick joke.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” Her voice slices through the air, rasped—playful, jagged. It cuts through your thoughts like a boxcutter. But your eyes don’t move. Don’t flinch. Don’t answer. You just stare at your shoes, biting the inside of your cheek until you taste copper.

“What? No ‘hello’?” She taunts, closing the attic door behind her. Heavy boots thump closer. “Not even a glance?” Her voice drips with cruel mimicry.

But still you said nothing.

“Ohhh… we’re doing the silent treatment thing again, huh?” She huffs, a bitter little chuckle caught in her throat. “Cute.”

For a moment, the room goes still. You almost think she’ll let it go. Maybe she’s bored. You can feel the faint slow senation of her hands raise to runndown your neck, playing with the small chains of your necklace.

Then—in a instant. A sudden pain rips through your neck—sudden and searing. Your body jerking forward with a choked gasp as she yanks your necklace, using it like a leash to drag your gaze up. There you see them, her cold steel-blue eyes burning into yours beneath the brim of her cap. Damp strands of hair clinging to her forehead. Her jaw clenched tight and her grip, just shy of strangling.

“God,” She growls, voice low and close, thick with fury, “all that time I spent patching you back together, and you still won’t even fucking look at me.”