Echoes of Scarlet

Emma’s POV

Seated across from me in our new, less opulent prison, Michael slides a tray of food toward me, his gaze critical. "You don't look as hauntingly beautiful as when you were just bones," he quips, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Eat."

I resist the urge to throw the tray at him. "It's none of your business," I snap back, struggling to keep my voice steady.

He laughs, a sound that chills my spine. "Everything about you is my business, Emma. Your body, your mind, they belong to me."

The words are a knife twisting in my gut, but I hold back my tears. Numbness has been my shield, my armor in surviving these days that bleed into each other with excruciating sameness. Reminded of my aborted escape through drowning—the memory a sharp sting of shame—I reaffirm silently: Lily needs me. No matter how dark my world turns, she needs her mother.

To avoid provoking Michael further, I begin eating the food reluctantly and decide to steer the conversation somewhere else, anywhere