Married To Darkness
Chapter 332: Rising Back To The Cage

Chapter 332: Rising Back To The Cage

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she hooked her foot onto the edge of the window frame, the other foot scrambling to find a balance point. Her arms screamed with strain as she twisted, her chest pressing into the rough stone wall.

The gown creaked—another small tear echoing through the silence—

But she didn’t stop.

Her trembling fingers clawed at the sides of the broken window, gripping the cold stone, and with each backward crawl—each agonizing inch—she pushed herself upward.

Her body bent at an awkward angle, the blood still rushing to her head, but she refused to let the panic swallow her whole.

"Just a little more," she muttered under her breath, the words a fragile prayer.

The wind whistled against her ears.

The silence of the room loomed behind her like a yawning mouth, and her captor—wherever he was—had not returned.

For a fleeting moment, she thought—

I would pay anything for him to find me right now.

I don’t want to die here.

With one last desperate heave, she pressed her chest flat against the wall, inching her way back inside the window—

And then—her hand finally grasped the inner ledge.

Her heart thundered as she hauled herself up—one knee landing on the sill—then the other—until she collapsed back into the room, her dress torn and her body shaking uncontrollably.

She lay there, gasping for air, staring at the ceiling—tears stinging her eyes but refusing to fall.

She was back.

But she wasn’t safe.

Not yet.

Salviana’s fingers trembled as they clawed at the rough wall. The bricks—small, uneven, and ancient—jutted out just enough to form narrow ridges.

Her palms, slick with sweat, slid at first, but she clenched her teeth and pressed harder, forcing her fingers into the tiny crevices. The sharp edges scraped her skin, biting into her flesh, but pain was the least of her worries.

I have to go back up.

I can’t fall.

I won’t fall.

Her heartbeat thundered—wild and erratic—as if it, too, was trying to climb out of her chest. Blood rushed to her head, blurring her vision at the corners, but she refused to let the creeping dizziness win.

Slowly—so slowly—she lifted her foot and sought out a ridge with the toe of her slipper. The dress—layers of fabric once meant to be beautiful—felt like a cruel joke now. It twisted around her legs, tangling, pulling her down.

Just move.

Don’t think. Just move.

Her foot found a narrow ledge, and she pressed down, testing its strength. It held. She pushed herself up—an inch—then another—fingertips dragging against the bricks as she struggled for a higher grip.

The world tilted again.

Her other foot scrambled, slipping once—twice—before she caught herself.

And then—

Her hand missed.

The ridge she thought was there—wasn’t.

Her fingers closed on empty air—nothing but a whisper of stone dust—and her body lurched.

The sudden loss of balance sent a jolt of panic up her spine, and before she could stop it—

"No!" she gasped—barely a sound, but loud enough to echo inside her head like a scream.

Her free hand, raw and aching, shot out—fingertips grazing another brick—and she latched onto it with everything she had.

Her nails bent—one of them tearing—but she didn’t feel the pain. All she felt was the pulse of her own fear—loud, relentless, screaming survive.

Her chest pressed into the wall, the rough stone scraping against her ribs with each heaving breath. She held still—too still—as if the slightest movement would send her plunging into the merciless void below.

The bird was gone.

The magic was gone.

It was just her now.

Her and the wall.

And the sickening, terrifying height below.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them away. Crying wouldn’t save her.

She had to climb.

With a sharp inhale, she shifted her weight again, carefully this time, so carefully.

Her foot searched for a new ridge, sliding along the wall until—there. A small jutting brick—barely enough to stand on—but enough.

She placed her foot against it, teeth gritted so tightly her jaw ached. Her other hand reached up—fingers trembling—seeking another grip.

Another inch.

And another.

Her muscles screamed—her arms, her calves, her back—but the fear of falling drowned out the pain.

One more inch.

Her foot slipped again—but she didn’t fall this time. She bit her lip, tasting blood, and fought the urge to sob.

She couldn’t fall.

She wouldn’t.

Her fingers finally grazed the inside of the window frame.

A choked sound of relief left her lips—but she couldn’t afford to celebrate.

Not yet.

Her other hand followed, latching onto the inner ledge, and with every ounce of strength she had left, she heaved herself up.

Her body twisted—her back scraping the rough stone—her dress ripping at the hem—until she finally tumbled into the room again.

She hit the cold floor hard, her shoulder slamming against the stone, but the pain meant nothing.

She was back.

She lay there—staring at the ceiling—gasping for air—torn between crying and laughing.

Her arms throbbed.

Her legs shook.

Her heart hammered so violently she thought it might break free of her chest.

But she was alive.

She was alive.

And she was going to get out of here.

Even if she had to tear this place apart brick by brick.

Salviana sat there, slumped against the cold wall, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. The adrenaline that had once burned through her veins was gone now, leaving her limbs as heavy as stone. Her muscles throbbed from the climb, her fingers stung from scrapes and cuts, and her dress—torn and crumpled—hung off her frame like a defeated flag.

She blinked at the window, the same cursed window she’d just fought for her life to escape.

She couldn’t believe it—couldn’t believe that just moments ago, dangling by a thread, she had actually wished her captor would come.

Come and save her.

The thought made her stomach churn with shame now. What would have happened if he had?

She could do more than imagine.

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