Page 113 of Claimed In Darkness

She does not feel the cold.

She does not eat.

She hasn’t eaten in days.

And still—she does not wither.

She should be breaking, should be falling apart, should be showing some fucking sign that she is human.

But she isn’t.

She sits there, staring into the flames, and I swear to the gods, it looks like she is waiting for them to consume her.

And I wonder—if I let her, would she burn?

Would she even fucking feel it?

The plate is small, the meal simple.

Not much.

But enough for her.

Enough to remind Naira what she is, what she was, what she is supposed to still be.

I set it in front of her, watching, waiting, hoping.

She does not look at me.

"You need to eat."

She exhales slowly, fingers dragging along her thigh.

That slow, lazy movement makes my skin crawl.

"Do I?" she murmurs.

My jaw clenches.

"Yes."

She lifts her eyes to me.

And I wish she fucking hadn’t.

Because the thing looking back at me is not my Naira.

It is something distant. Detached. Empty.

She tilts her head just slightly, a soft exhale slipping from her lips, a whisper of something amused, something cruel.

"Are you sure?"

I should not be hesitating.

But I am.

I am not sure of anything anymore.

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