Awake to spot the shadow

The maiden’s voice trembled as she continued, the children hanging on every word. “The next morning, when the young woman awoke, she found a fresh supply of food on the table and a new set of clothes laid out for her, just like the day before. It puzzled her—this unseen benefactor who provided for her without revealing themselves. She wondered if it could be the same shadowy figure she had glimpsed in the yard the previous night.

“She had no choice but to accept these offerings. Her body was still weak from days of running, and the food was a necessity. But she resolved to meet this shadow, to thank them for their strange generosity. She decided to stay awake that night, determined to uncover the mystery of her unseen host.

“As the sun dipped below the horizon and the moon took its place high in the sky, she waited, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and anticipation. The hours passed slowly, and just when she began to think she might fall asleep despite herself, she heard it—the sound of footsteps echoing from the hallway. They were slow, deliberate, growing closer with each step. Halfway down the hall, the footsteps stopped. She heard the clink of glasses, followed by a stretch of silence that felt like it might last forever.

“She held her breath, every muscle in her body tensed. Then, the footsteps resumed, this time louder, more purposeful, heading straight toward her door. Her heart raced, her instincts screaming at her to flee, but she was paralyzed with fear. These weren’t the movements of some ghostly entity—this was a person.

“The footsteps stopped just outside her door. She heard the faint creak as it began to open. She wanted to run, to scream, to do anything but lie there frozen, but she couldn’t move. She was completely immobilized, gripped by a terror so deep it rooted her to the spot.

“And then, she heard it—a deep voice, low and steady, cutting through the silence like a knife. ‘So you were awake?’ it said.

“Her eyes widened in terror and shock. That voice—it triggered something within her, a memory she had buried deep, one that she had tried so hard to forget. It was a trauma response to her past, a life she had fled from, one filled with pain and fear. She trembled uncontrollably, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She shut her eyes tight, bracing herself for the blows she was sure would come, just as they had so many times before.

“But the blows never came. Instead, she heard the voice again, this time closer, right in front of her. ‘Miss?’ it asked, softer now, almost as if it were concerned.

“She didn’t dare open her eyes, didn’t dare look at the figure she could feel towering over her. He was large, his presence overwhelming, and her body shook with fear. But there was something different about this voice, something that didn’t quite match the cruelty she remembered. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to move, to speak. Her past had taught her that any sign of defiance would only make things worse.

“But the figure didn’t move to strike her. Instead, he remained still, waiting. When she didn’t respond, he spoke again, even more gently, ‘Are you hurt?’."

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