Page 217 of Bound By Crimson
But if there was even a sliver of hope left
—she needed to try.
Chapter Eighty
Fear of Falling
The fifth night after the voice, she went back.
She told herself it was just for air.
Just to breathe.
But her hands were trembling before she even reached the door.
She stuffed the bed. Slipped through the house like a ghost.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
The garden waited—cold, silver-washed, endless.
The wall loomed ahead, wrapped in ivy, wrapped in silence.
She stood with her hand against the stone.
The cold bled into her skin.
It felt like touching a memory she didn’t deserve.
Her heart hammered so loud she thought the house would hear it.
Still, she whispered:
“Are you there?”
The words barely made it out.
A shiver more than a sound.
Nothing answered.
The night stretched on, wide and empty.
She sat down on the stone bench, pulling her knees tight to her chest.
Her breath hitched.
It felt ridiculous, sitting here, whispering to a wall like a lunatic.
She muttered under her breath, voice shaking:
“Of course you’re not there. Why would you be?”
She wiped her face, embarrassed even though no one could see her.
“It was probably nothing. Maybe I’m going insane. Hearing things.”
Her throat tightened.
