Page 213 of Bound By Crimson

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Editha came every three or four days.

Never in the middle of the night.

Always after lunch.

Never on Sundays.

She used that schedule to survive.

Her body had continued to strengthen. Quietly.

Bernarda still left protein bars, yogurts, crackers, and other packaged foods. Foods that Lyric could trust weren’t poisoned. Even then, she was still skeptical.

It was enough to stay alive.

Enough to pretend.

But in the quietest hours, Lyric began sneaking further.

Testing her balance first—standing at the edge of the bed after dark.

Then pacing the room.

Then she cracked the door and listened.

And eventually, she slipped down the hall.

Then the stairs.

Then into the kitchen.

She never took much.

Only what wouldn’t be missed—crusts of bread, a cold boiled egg, a spoonful of honey.

She ate it slowly, huddled in the shadows by the cold oven, and returned everything exactly as she found it.

Sometimes, she stuffed her bed with pillows before leaving her room.

Just in case.

It became habit.

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The first time she approached the back garden doors, she didn’t open them.

She stood there, fingers on the handle, staring through the sheer curtains.

The moonlight glinted on the glass.

The garden beyond looked silver-washed and still.

She breathed in the air that crept through the crack.

Damp. Cold. Clean.

It smelled like something forbidden. Something she wasn’t allowed to want.

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