Midnight.
The Slave Establishment.
Crtic Izinghale, Critic-Ishire.
******************
Silence descended suddenly, Lydia and Meceline glanced at each other before Lydia gripped the cold iron bars with trembling hands, her knuckles turning white as her frustration boiled over.
"Helena!" she screamed into the silence. Her voice echoed back at her, mocking her desperation.
She needed to get out of here. She needed to go home. To Theodore. The thought of him, of his warm presence, wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. But it also tore her apart, knowing how far away he was. Her mind whirled, replaying the moments she had lost with him, each memory sharper and more painful than the last.
"Calm down," Meceline whispered, trying to soothe her.
