Chapter 2 - The Iron TombEleanor's lips were dry and cracked.
The heat pressed against her skin until every breath felt like swallowing fire.
She had stopped counting the days.
At first, she had scratched tiny marks into the wooden floor of the cage.
One mark for every sunrise.
But eventually, even that became meaningless.
Time had turned into something cruel and shapeless.
Her white hair clung to her forehead. Her gray dress hung loosely from her frail body. Her hands shook constantly now.
Beyond the bars, she could see everything she could no longer reach.
The garden.
The porch.
The front door.
The kitchen where she had once baked pies for neighbors.
The living room where her husband had sat every evening before he died.
This had been her home for more than forty years.
Now it was her prison.
Sometimes Eleanor wondered if dying would be easier.
Then she remembered her daughter.
Clara.
The name lived inside her like a tiny flame that refused to go out.
Clara had left years ago.
They had parted badly.
Pride had spoken louder than love.
And Eleanor had spent years pretending she didn't regret it.
Now, trapped behind iron bars, she regretted everything.
Every harsh word.
Every unanswered call.
Every moment she could have said, "I love you."
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If only Clara knew.
If only she could come home.
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