The room was in semi-darkness, and yet Anne felt the light enveloping her. It did not come from the burning lamp or from the dawn that was beginning to creep through the linen curtains: it was another light, a more intimate one, that seemed to spring from within herself. But also... a darkness waited at the edge of that brightness. As if her soul were suspended between two shores: the one she feared, and the one she longed to cross.
He had not slept for days. Her mother's letter, Zane's words, Lucian's broken gaze... everything was jumbled together like a whirlwind. She had loved and she had hated. He had forgiven and he had hated himself for doing so. She had been victim and accomplice, innocent and guilty. What was left of her now?
She sat in front of the mirror and contemplated her reflection. She was no longer the little girl from the farm. Nor was she the fearful maid who shuddered at Viktoria's orders. Nor - not quite - was she the mistress of a man who had bound her with soft words and stinging deeds.
She was many. She was all.
And she was broken.
-Who am I? -she whispered to the mirror.
Silence answered her with a memory:
The little girl who at night hid her brothers under the table so they wouldn't hear the screams.
The teenager who dreamed of running away with a boy with sad eyes and hope in his voice.
The young girl who believed that a kiss could save her.
And also the woman who had allowed someone to possess her, unchained... but afraid.
Lucian had been her darkness disguised as shelter. Her savior and her jailer. Her comfort... and her torment. She had learned to need him as one learns to breathe in an airless room. She had mistaken control for protection, dependence for love.
But no longer.
That night, she went down to the greenhouse alone. Surrounded by plants and shadows, she sat among the wilted flowers.
-I have lived in shadows... and I have been one too," she whispered, stroking a dried petal. But if ever there was light in me, I want to find it.
For the first time, she cried not out of sadness, not out of despair... but out of relief. Because she understood that she didn't need to choose between loving Lucian or freeing herself from him. That she could love him... and still choose to leave. That she could remember Zane... and still move on. That she didn't have to define herself by what others did to her.
She could be everything. Or start from scratch.
The wind whistled softly across the greenhouse, like a blessing.
Ana stood up.
She was no longer the broken child.
Nor the mute servant.
Nor the trapped mistress.
She was a woman with scars....
And each one glowed with the promise of a new beginning.