The dank air of the dungeon clung to my skin like a second, grimy layer. Each breath was a struggle against the stench of mold and despair that permeated the stone walls of our prison.
The only light came from a small, barred window high above, too far to reach and too grimy to let in more than a feeble ray of sunlight. The floor was a cold, uneven cobblestone, slick with the dampness that seeped in from the world outside these walls.
Zara and I were huddled in the corner, our backs against the cold stone, our spirits as dampened as the cell we occupied.
The guards, cruel smirks etched permanently onto their faces, brought us nothing but water in rusted tin cups, their laughter echoing off the walls as they mocked our plight.
"I told you not to trust Lydia," Zara hissed, her eyes flashing with anger and betrayal. "And you were flirting with her, Aaliyah. I warned you she wasn't a good person."
