Chapter 36- other choice

Chapter 36: 36- other choice 36 ~Lisa’s POV He was gone. He was really gone. And I... I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I sank to the ground as much as the restraints allowed, my hands shaking, heart beating so violently I thought it might stop altogether. I cried, gasped, clawed at the earth like I could dig him back up. My voice grew hoarse, my tears burning like fire. "I’m sorry," I whispered, over and over, "I’m sorry... I’m so sorry..." But the world didn’t care. And neither did they. Because just as I lifted my head, the guards moved. They released the chains from the execution post and dragged me forward. I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. My body was limp, my mind blank, except for one agonizing truth: I’d led him to his death. And now it was my turn. They threw me onto the flogging post. My stomach pressed against the cold wood, my arms tied down, my back bare. I barely felt the first lash. But the second broke through the numbness. The third made me scream. The pain kept coming, sharp, fiery, each strike like lightning ripping through my skin. I lost count after ten. My cries echoed in the courtyard, but I knew no one was listening. The triplets had already turned away. Not once did they look back. Not once did they acknowledge the girl who once would’ve burned herself to keep them warm. Belinda walked beside them, smiling faintly, her arms tucked snugly beneath her cloak. She didn’t gloat. She didn’t need to. Her silence was louder than any victory speech. When it was finally over, I wasn’t even sure if I was alive. The guards untied me and hauled me off the post like a rag doll, my body limp and slick with blood and sweat. I didn’t speak. I didn’t fight. I let them drag me back through the halls, down the long corridor, and toss me like trash into my room. They didn’t leave medicine. No cloth. No water. Just silence. And pain. I curled on the cold bed, my breath shallow, my body on fire. My buttocks felt like they’d been split open, hot, raw, bleeding, and there was no one to help me. No maid. No one. I tried to reach for the salve I kept hidden under my bed, but my hands were shaking so badly I knocked it over. "I can do it," I whispered. "I can take care of myself." But I couldn’t. I broke down again, sobbing into the sheets. My whole body trembled with grief, rage, shame. My heart felt too big for my chest, too full of hurt to keep beating. Eventually, the crying faded into shallow breaths... and then sleep dragged me under like a tide. But even sleep wasn’t kind. I dreamed of him. Milo, smiling at me through blood. Of the triplets, turning their backs one by one. Of Belinda, whispering in my ear, You were always alone. And when I jolted awake, drenched in sweat, my mouth dry from screaming in my sleep, the pain in my back and legs reminded me: It wasn’t a dream. It never was. I cried until I couldn’t make a sound anymore. I curled into myself, clutching the pillow as if it could hold me together while everything else inside me had fallen apart. My sobs were ragged, weak, swallowed into the sheets. The raw sting on my back and thighs pulsed with every movement. Breathing hurts. Thinking hurts. Existing hurt. And still, I cried. Until there was a loud knock on the door. Then it opened without waiting for an answer. "Enough already," one of the maids muttered from the doorway, her tone sharp with irritation. "People are trying to sleep. Stop disturbing everyone with your noise." Another laughed under her breath. "You’d think she was the only one ever punished in this palace." I said nothing. I couldn’t. My voice was lost somewhere between the scream I let out when Milo died and the lash that tore skin from my back. I turned my face toward the wall, my lips trembling, and forced the rest of my tears to stay inside. They closed the door roughly behind them. So I cried inwardly. Biting down on the fabric of the pillow, shaking silently, I let it all bleed out in the dark. I didn’t know when I drifted into sleep again, if you could even call it sleep. It was broken, twisted by pain and fever, haunted by the image of Milo’s lifeless eyes. When light finally filtered into the room the next morning, I didn’t feel like I’d rested at all. My body was stiff, sore, and burning with fever. I could barely move. Every inch of my skin felt like it was stretched too tight, my bones aching as though they’d been shattered and reset wrong. The door burst open again. This time, it was Maltida, the head maid,flanked by two others. Her expression was as tight and cold as ever. "Good. You’re up," she said sharply. I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. I just lay there, blinking up at her with heavy eyes. She stepped closer, arms crossed. "As part of your punishment," she began, her voice brisk and without a hint of sympathy, "you’re to report to the kitchen. You’ll be working alone. No help. No shortcuts. From morning till dusk." Her words hung heavy in the air. I could barely understand them. The room spun slightly. My body was drenched in sweat, yet I felt cold. My lips were dry. My head throbbed. I tried to sit up but gasped at the sharp pain shooting through my back and legs. Still, all I could do was stare at them. Matilda’s eyes narrowed. "Did you not hear me?" I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. "She looks sick," one of the younger maids whispered, glancing at me nervously. "She’s faking it," Matilda snapped without looking. "She wants pity. But she won’t get it here. She wants to cry like a victim, she’ll do it by scrubbing pots." I didn’t have the strength to argue. I didn’t even have the strength to cry anymore. I just nodded faintly... because what other choice did I have?