Page 90 of Iron Roses

Fausto leans in close.

His breath is sour. I smell the red wine he drank before this. It clings to his words like spit.

“Tomorrow,” he growls. “I will come back tomorrow.”

He jerks my head up one more time. My neck screams. My eyes won’t focus.

“And I’ll carve it out of you if I have to. Piece by fucking piece.”

He shoves my head down hard. I fall with it. My cheek smears blood across the floor. The metal grating grinds into my jaw.

The cold seeps in. Not like wind. Not like water.

It’s heavier than that. Thicker. Like it’s inside me—curling up behind my ribs, pressing into my lungs, sliding under my skin with each failing breath.

My face is still against the floor. I can’t lift it. I try.

Once.

Twice.

The muscle won’t obey.

Blood has pooled near my lips. I taste it when I inhale—sharp, thick, coppery. My tongue is dry, cracked at the edges. My pulse is distant, like footsteps going the wrong direction down a long hallway.

The rocking of the boat feels stronger. Or maybe I’m just weaker. Each shift slams my body softly against the cage bars. Like the sea is rocking me to sleep.

My eyes start to close. The darkness drips in. My vision folds inward—

And then—

Light.

It gathers in front of me like moonlight pressed into skin. It doesn’t belong here. Not in this cell. Not in this hell.

My lashes stick together.

She’s standing just outside the bars.

Giovanna.

Her dress is pale and flowing, not wet, not torn. Her skin glows like it remembers the sun. Her hair is loose, draped like river silk over one shoulder. Her mouth is soft.

She kneels.

The cage should stop her, but it doesn’t. She kneels as if the bars aren't there. As if time and death forgot her.

She reaches out.

Her fingers are small. I remember those fingers braiding my hair behind the rose trellis. I remember them tucking flowers into the seams of my coat. I remember them wiping tears I didn’t want anyone to see.

Now they hover in front of me, open. Waiting.

My arm lifts, trembling.

It takes all of me. Every shred. My elbow shakes. My fingers twitch. I stretch—closer. Almost there. My skin aches to touch hers.

The world tilts.

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