Page 184 of Bound By Crimson
Just a Vessel
It felt like hours before anyone came to the door.
The sound of keys turning in the lock made Lyric sit up too quickly. A cramp twisted through her lower back, sharp enough to make her wince. She pushed herself to her feet, heart pounding.
The door creaked open, and Tessa stepped in—tall, thin, dressed in plain black with her hair wound into a tight bun. She carried a silver tray with covered dishes and a folded napkin. Her face was unreadable.
Just behind her, standing like a statue in the doorway, was Charles.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
But his presence filled the space like a locked gate. His eyes met Lyric’s once—just long enough to remind her she wouldn’t make it past him.
“Good morning, Miss Lyric,” she said softly, as if nothing were wrong. “Please eat while the food is warm.”
She set the tray on the table near the window. Without another word, she turned back toward the door.
“Wait—” Lyric rushed forward, her voice cracking. “Please. Why am I locked in here? What’s happening? Please let me out—please, just let me go. I—I need to get out of here—”
Tessa paused.
She turned back, her eyes flickering over Lyric’s face with something like pity—but it never reached her mouth. Her expression stayed tight, controlled.
A small, sad smile formed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not up to me.”
Then she stepped out, and the door shut behind her with a heavy, deliberate click.
The lock turned.
Lyric stood there, breath shaking. Her chest ached. Her legs felt like water.
She stared at the door for what felt like a year.
And then she collapsed back onto the bed.
She didn’t touch the tray.
She couldn’t.
Not at first.
Let them watch her waste away. Let them see what they were doing. If they wanted her to be some vessel—some breeding girl in a bloodline nightmare—then they could watch her starve out of spite.
She curled onto her side, turning her back to the food, tucking a pillow under her belly for support, fists clenched beneath her other one. The scent of warm bread and butter made her stomach growl violently.
Still, she refused.
---
Hours passed. Her limbs grew heavier. Her belly tightened and released in dull, rhythmic waves. Hunger clawed at her, sharp and punishing.
She pressed her hand to her stomach and whispered, “I’m sorry, Noah.”
The name came out broken. She hadn’t said it aloud in days. Maybe longer.
Maybe she was losing time.
