#5

Arwenzylle sank deeper into the warm water of the bathtub, letting it envelop her battered body. The heat soothed her aching muscles, but it couldn’t touch the pain buried deep within her. Her fingers lightly brushed over the scars on her arms, trailing the raised lines that told stories of suffering she had inherited from the original Arwenzylle. Her reflection in the rippling water stared back at her, distorted and uncertain.

She clenched her fists under the water, her nails biting into her palms. "Escape…" she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. "I need to escape. But how? How can I trust anyone in this place?"

Her thoughts swirled like the water around her. The duke was merciless, her sister Aelita was a snake, and the staff was too afraid of the family to be of any help. There was no one she could rely on. No one but herself—or, perhaps, the prince.

The memory of the letter flashed in her mind. The original Arwenzylle must have trusted him enough to send a plea for help. But why? And what could she have said that was worth risking her father’s wrath? The questions gnawed at her, refusing to let go.

"If I could just figure out what their connection was," she murmured. "Maybe there’s something there—something I can use."

Her mind raced with possibilities. If the prince was someone she could turn to, perhaps he could help her escape this house and the clutches of her father. But reaching him wouldn’t be easy. She couldn’t just waltz into the palace, not with her father watching her every move. She needed a plan.

Arwenzylle leaned her head back against the edge of the tub, her wet hair clinging to her skin. The faint scent of the herbal oils the maids had poured into the water filled her senses, grounding her for a moment. But the soothing atmosphere did little to calm her racing heart.

"I need to be careful," she thought. "One wrong move, and I’ll end up worse off than I already am. But if I don’t try… I’ll never get out of here."

Her gaze dropped to the water, her reflection staring back at her with newfound determination. "I’ll find out why the prince mattered to her. And if he can help me, I’ll use that connection. I won’t waste this chance."

Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself to sit upright, the water sloshing around her. She could feel the resolve solidifying in her chest. This was her life now, but she wouldn’t let it stay this way. She couldn’t.

She called for the maids to help her out of the bath and dress her. As they worked in silence, Arwenzylle’s mind continued to churn, formulating the first steps of her plan. Once she was dressed and alone again in her room, she sat at her desk, staring at the blank parchment before her.

"If I’m going to reach the prince," she thought, "I need to write to him. But this time, I’ll make sure no one else gets their hands on the letter."

She picked up the quill and began to write, each stroke of ink on the parchment feeling like a step closer to freedom. The words came slowly, carefully, as she crafted her message, making sure it sounded just desperate enough to compel the prince’s attention without giving too much away.

When she finished, she sealed the letter and tucked it away in a hidden compartment in her desk. She would need to find a way to deliver it discreetly, but for now, it was a start—a spark of hope in the darkness.

As she sat back in her chair, Arwenzylle allowed herself a small, bitter smile. "I’ll escape this place," she whispered to herself. "No matter what it takes."

Suddenly, someone knocked on her window. A strange figure stood there, yet she didn’t feel scared. Instead, a strange sense of familiarity washed over her. Again... this feeling... It’s Arwenzylle, she thought. She walked cautiously toward the window, her heart pounding in her chest. Before she could fully process what was happening, the stranger slipped inside.

The figure was a man, dressed entirely in black, with his face obscured by a hood and mask.

As he pulled the hood back, his golden hair glinted faintly in the moonlight. He was tall, with broad shoulders and piercing golden eyes that held an angelic yet sorrowful quality. His face, though handsome, seemed burdened with unspoken pain.

Without warning, the man stepped forward and wrapped Arwenzylle in a tight embrace. His voice was low but filled with urgency as he whispered, “I thought you had forgotten the day we were supposed to escape. Arwen, I’m here to take you... Let’s run away together. Let’s escape this hell together.”

Tears welled up in Arwenzylle’s eyes, but they weren’t entirely her own. These are Arwenzylle’s feelings... This man... These two loved each other, she thought, her heart aching with the weight of the emotions coursing through her. And if that’s true... Maybe I can escape this place. Maybe I can trust this man, just as Arwenzylle did.

They successfully escaped the oppressive house, slipping away under the cover of night. Together, they fled the empire of Windhurge, leaving behind its suffocating grasp.

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