Annica sat in the dimly lit dungeon, hugging her knees tightly.
The air was thick with dampness, carrying the musty scent of dust and mold that clung to her senses. Her once neatly arranged hair now hung disheveled around her shoulders, matching the disarray of her dress. Her face appeared swollen and tired, the aftermath of a night spent in tears.
It was hard to know how long she had been there. The only light came from the flickering torches outside the bars, and no sound could be heard but the soft dripping of water.
As she stared into the dark corner, rage welled up in her chest. Not with the person responsible for putting her there, but with herself.
How could she have been so incredibly foolish? After dedicating five long years to waiting for the opportunity to finally arrive, after enduring the trials of survival for just as long, how could she have allowed it to slip through her fingers like sand?
