(MAYA)
Night after night, I find myself abandoning the comfort of my bed for the open sky.
It doesn't matter how exhausted I am or how cold the night air grows; the walls press in on me, memories of my cell creeping like shadows across the ceiling. Some nights I wake gasping, clawing at invisible restraints. Other nights, I don't sleep at all, just stare at the walls until they seem to inch closer.
The cottage garden has become my sanctuary. I've created a small nest for myself—a thick blanket spread on the soft grass, another to cover me, and the endless canvas of stars above. My mother has stopped asking why she finds me outside each morning. She simply brings me coffee and squeezes my shoulder.
Tonight is no different. The moon hangs fat and bright in the sky, nearly full. According to Erik, the ceremony to reinstate Griffin as king will happen when it reaches its peak in another week or so. The thought sends a strange flutter through my stomach.
