Two more days had passed, and the situation had grown dire. Her last morsel of food was long gone, and with it, her strength had begun to wane. Every movement was a struggle now, her limbs heavy with fatigue, her body drained of the energy it desperately needed. She could no longer afford to move much, forced to conserve what little strength she had left. The ache in her head had dulled to a persistent throb, no longer sharp but still a constant reminder of her fragile state.
Desperation clawed at her as she lay in the darkness, her thoughts racing despite her exhaustion. She knew she couldn't stay here much longer—not if she wanted to survive. The idea of simply waiting for death was unbearable. She needed to act, to find a way out before hunger claimed her completely.
The door had been her first hope, but no matter how hard she had pushed or pulled, it remained immovable, as if mocking her efforts. The only other option left was the dumbwaiter, the small, rickety device that had once been her lifeline. It was never intended for a person, but right now, it was the only possibility she could see.
Her plan began to take shape, hazy but determined. If she could fit inside the dumbwaiter, perhaps she could pull herself up—or lower herself down—wherever it led. It was a terrifying prospect, the unknown of what lay beyond, but it was better than the certainty of dying here, alone and forgotten.
The weight of her crimson coat, once a comfort, now felt like a burden she could no longer afford to carry. With trembling hands, she stripped it off, letting it fall to the cold floor. The thin camisole she wore offered little protection from the chill, but it made her feel lighter, more agile—if only slightly.
She turned her gaze upward, squinting into the darkness. There, far above, she spotted a faint glimmer of light, barely visible but unmistakable. It was a beacon, a sign that there was something beyond this suffocating tomb. She had to reach it.
Taking a deep breath, she gripped the edges of the dumbwaiter and began to pull herself upward. Her muscles screamed in protest, the little strength she had left quickly draining away. But she couldn't stop—not now. Each pull brought her closer to the light, closer to freedom, but the effort was gruelling. Sweat beaded on her brow, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
Halfway up, her hand slipped. For a terrifying moment, she felt herself sliding back down, her heart pounding in her chest as panic threatened to overwhelm her. But she dug her fingers into the rough wood, forcing herself to hold on. With a grunt of effort, she found her footing again, pushing through the pain and exhaustion.
The light grew brighter as she ascended, the darkness receding inch by agonising inch. It felt like an eternity, but at last, she reached the top. With one final push, she hoisted herself up and out of the dumbwaiter, collapsing onto the floor above.
She lay there for a moment, panting, her body trembling from the effort. The air here was different—less stale, less suffocating. The light, though dim, was a welcome change from the pitch-black void she had left behind. She had done it. She was out.
As she took in her surroundings, she found herself in what appeared to be a kitchen, though it was unlike any kitchen she had ever seen. Dust clung to every surface, thick and undisturbed, as if the room had been sealed off for years. The air was heavy with the musty scent of decay, mingled with the faint, acrid odour of something long forgotten.
The kitchen was large, with old, tarnished pots and pans hanging from a rack above a long, scarred wooden table, and the wood countertops were withered. Cobwebs draped over the cupboards and corners, their delicate threads glittering faintly in the weak light filtering through the grimy windows. The stove, an ancient thing made of iron, looked like it hadn't been used in decades. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust, untouched by human hands for what seemed like an eternity.
She stood still for a moment, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of where she was. The eerie silence of the kitchen was oppressive, and she could hear nothing but the sound of her own breathing. Slowly, she began to move, her footsteps echoing softly in the desolate space.