Page 99 of A Weave of Lies
For hours she lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, waiting to wake up from her nightmare. But she couldn’t escape it; this was the waking world.
And everything around her looked like a cage.
Chapter 22
Coldiron-ladenhandsmadea poor conductor for the Unseen Arras.
Semras knew it. She tried anyway. Again, and again, and again, long after her tears had dried and her fingers had grown numb from the stress she put them under.
Again.
But nothing answered the flex of her fingers. She couldn’t hold on to any threads long enough to weave them.
Again.
Blood seeped through the edges of the metallic hinges. It dried, seeped out, and dried again countless times.
Again.
There was a way out. There would be a way out. Even if she had to dig it out of the material world herself.
Again.
Even if she had to dig it out of the monster himself.
Again—
Hours after her mind gave up all hope, her body kept trying. Like a caged beast, it wanted to gnaw at its chained limbs tobreak free. But tearing apart her wrists to be rid of the shackles would have been vain; freedom without her ability to weave was just another cage.
Just another death.
After another failed attempt, a long, mournful wail ripped out of Semras’ throat. Exhausted, she looked around the room for the umpteenth time, as if one more glance would break the cage apart and reveal the way out.
Deep scratches were etched onto the wood of both doors. Now shattered, the windows let through the cold autumn breeze in a cruel taste of the freedom lying beyond its metal grate. The chair she had thrown at the glass rested abandoned next to its broken legs. On the bed were the remains of what had once been luxurious linen sheets, now shredded by her rage. Everything Semras could reach for had suffered from her pain.
But the one who should have suffered the most remained safe behind the small secondary door connecting their rooms together.
She knew the monster was still awake. She had pounded on the door for as long as she could lift her fists, had shrieked demands to be let out, had spoken empty promises of understanding and cooperation and even, at the height of her hysterical state … love.
His steps had echoed closer to the door then, but he hadn’t spoken. Her captor hadn’t retreated even now, as the sun grew higher and higher in the morning sky.
She couldn’t tell whether a single night had passed or many.
Her eyes closed against her will. They traitorously took her to a realm of vivid nightmares, made of memories from her first encounter with the monster to the moment he revealed his true face. Each left her with the sensation of an increasing pressure around her throat, as if hands strangled her, choking the life out of her lungs.
As if she were dying.
Whenconsciousnessdraggedherback to her miserable reality again, Semras didn’t feel any better. Neither did she feel worse. Nothing distinguished nightmares from the waking world anymore.
She found a platter of food on the desk, probably brought inside the room while she was unconscious. It must have been hours ago; it was cold now that the afternoon was fading into evening, but Semras still ate. She needed her strength back. Weaving hadn’t worked, and neither had wallowing, demanding, bartering, or battering.
Time for a new strategy.
After pushing the platter aside, Semras walked to the door leading to the corridor and knocked softly. A minute passed, and she received no answer.
She knocked again. Still nothing.
Again.
