Chapter 1 “The Locked Room”
Part 1: The Cracked Walls
(Summary: Girl sits in the corner of a small, damp room with peeling wallpaper. Mother coughs weakly on the thin mattress. Outside, the grandmother’s sharp voice echoes. The girl presses her ear to the wall, wishing she could break free.)
The room smelled of damp stone, rotting wood, and something faintly sour — the old stew left too long in the corner, or the smell was just the room itself, steeped in years of quiet rot.
The girl sat with her knees drawn to her chest, her bare feet cold against the cracked floorboards. She traced a finger slowly over a long, thin crack in the wall, following it like a path, pretending it was a road leading somewhere far, somewhere outside, somewhere warm.
Her mother’s cough rattled softly from the mattress — not a real bed, just a lump of thin padding laid flat on the ground, stained at the edges, the colour of old bruises.
“Shh,” the girl whispered, glancing toward the door.
She knew the rules be quiet, do not draw attention, do not give Grandmother a reason.
Through the thin walls, she could hear faint sounds from beyond the locked door: the scrape of heavy shoes, the clatter of pots, the sharp, clipped voice of her grandmother barking orders at someone — probably one of the housemaids, though the girl had never seen them up close.
They existed only as shadows on the other side of the door.
Her stomach clenched. She did not know if she was hungry or scared. Both.
She pushed her ear against the wall, pressing hard until it almost hurt. Was that the sound of cars in the street? Voices? Laughter?
She squeezed her eyes shut, imagining the outside: crowds, noise, people who did not know her name or her shame.
Behind her, the mattress creaked softly.
“Mama?” she whispered, turning just enough to look.
Her mother gave her a faint, flickering smile. She looked so small now, her once-thick hair hanging in thin strands, her skin pale and dry, lips slightly blue.
“It’s alright, baby,” her mother murmured, her voice barely stronger than a breath.
The girl crawled over on her hands and knees, tucking herself against her mother’s side, feeling the rasp of each breath.
She looked again at the crack in the wall.
Tiny, but sharp. A break. A weakness.
And she wondered, just for a second, what would happen if she pushed.
