Quicksand

I have been screaming for so long that my voice is gone—raw, broken, nothing but a whisper of pain.

But it doesn't matter.

No one is coming.

The spiders are still crawling, their thin legs skittering over my skin. I can't shake them off. I tried—I tried until my body gave out, until exhaustion pinned me to the cold floor, until my own mind turned against me.

The torture is too much. Too much.

My chest rises and falls in short, ragged gasps. My skin burns where my nails have scratched deep, desperate to dig them out, to get them off—but there's no escape.

I can feel them everywhere.

Moving. Crawling. Claiming.

Tears streak down my face, but I don't wipe them away. What's the point?

My body is trembling. Shaking so violently I barely feel human anymore.

Somewhere, buried beneath the fear, beneath the crawling, writhing things that refuse to leave my skin, a memory surfaces.

A song.

My mother's song.

She used to sing it to me whenever I cried, her voice soft as she stroked my hair, promising me that everything would be okay.

Nothing is okay now.

But the melody lingers in my mind, refusing to let go.

I part my trembling lips and hum.

It's weak at first—barely a whisper, barely a sound—but I hold onto it, letting the familiar tune thread itself through the terror.

The spiders don't stop. They keep crawling, moving over my skin like they belong there. Like I belong to them.

But I hum anyway.

I hum because it's the only thing I have left.

The only thing that's mine.

My voice wavers, cracking, but I don't stop.

I hum louder, forcing the sound through my raw throat, clinging to the one thing Adrik hasn't stolen from me yet—a memory of warmth. Of love.

A choked sob mixes into the melody, but I don't care.

Because for the first time since this nightmare began, I feel like I'm fighting back.

The melody wavers as my throat tightens, raw from screaming, from crying, from hours of silence filled with terror.

But I don't stop.

I hum through the shaking, through the spiders crawling down my spine, through the crushing weight of fear pressing into my ribs.

It's the only thing keeping me together.

My mother's voice feels closer now, like she's kneeling beside me, running her fingers through my tangled hair, whispering, Shh, my love. Just breathe.

I take a shuddering breath. In. Out.

The cold floor bites into my bare skin. The air is thick with decay. I refuse to look at the dead bodies still sprawled across the room—I can't. I won't.

So I squeeze my eyes shut, clutching onto the song like it's the last piece of my soul.

The door creaks.

My body locks up.

I feel it before I see him.

A presence. A shadow. Him.