Page 100 of Iron Roses

My vision begins to darken at the edges—not just from lack of air, but from everything pulling toward the floor.

My shoulders ache from hanging. My arms dangle loosely, too heavy to lift. Numbness creeps from my fingers, up my forearms, past the elbow.

My feet—bound tightly at the ankles—burn in their own private agony. The rope cuts into the soft tissue, already blistered and ruptured from the brazier. I feel the sticky drag of reopened wounds, the warmth of blood sliding down my calves and dripping toward my back.

The boat rocks. The sway is slow, but every motion twists something inside me. My stomach knots. My mouth tastes like metal and salt.

I try to focus, Try to hold onto something.

And then I see Giovanna.

She’s sitting in the corner of the room. Legs tucked to the side, like she’s always belonged there.

Her hair sparkles in the light—soft, impossibly clean, reflecting gold where the sunlight breaks through the porthole.

She’s smiling.

Her face is calm. As if this is a visit. As if I’m supposed to be here, and she’s just been waiting.

The pain spikes again—this time behind my jaw, a tightening that makes my vision blur. A hot line of blood trails from my left nostril. I can feel it running across my cheek, drawn upward by gravity.

I chuckle. It’s barely a sound.

A dry rasp pulled from my throat. It stings on the way out. Giovanna rises.

She crosses the room—without sound, without shadow. She kneels in front of me. She leans in. Her hand cups the back of my neck.

She kisses my forehead.

And then I feel the blood spill faster.

It leaks down into my hairline, slides past my temple, pools along my brow. The heat in my skull becomes unbearable, like my brain is pressing outward, desperate to escape.

My mouth falls open.

Breath staggers. Giovanna’s hand stays at my neck, holding me.

I try to speak. Nothing comes.

And then—

The light folds in on itself and the sound of the sea fades.

****

Day 3

The cold hits first.

A rush of water, full force, slamming into my face and chest.

I jolt.

My limbs twitch uncontrollably. My eyes snap open, and the pain roars in behind them like a tide. My head whips to the side. Coughs claw up my throat.

My body is soaked. The floor beneath me is slick, rough wood biting into the burns on my back and thighs. My feet scream beneath me—raw nerves reignited by contact, as if the burns have been torn open again.

Every breath drags. Every joint protests. My muscles seize and shudder.

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