Business magnate's daughter, Isla Templeton (Feather), is the youngest of André Templeton's three children. And the top topic in the upper-class gossip in New York City.
Isla has always been a fighter; after losing her mother at a young age by sui...
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I used to love the silence, the way it felt soft and safe, a place where I could disappear and just be.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star...
But after a week in solitary confinement, the silence had turned on me—it was thick, pressing in so heavily that I could hear the blood rushing through my veins, a relentless hum that filled my ears, never letting up.
How I wonder what you are...
Not even my screams could hush it; this sound was louder than my own voice, louder than any thought I could conjure to escape it. The darkness wrapped around me until that pulsing, thrumming beat was all that was left, as it belonged more to this place than to me. And sometimes, the thought crept in, cold and sharp: if I could just empty myself, drain myself clean, just to stop the noise coming from my head rushing down to my ears.
Up above the world so high. Like a...
The alarm jolted me awake from my daydream. I have no idea how long I've stared at the ceiling. Already back into my regular "cell," I've never been happier.
I shuffled with the rest of them, half-awake patients in thin, faded clothes, all of us trudging our way to the "playroom." It was a joke of a name, really—there were not many patients with the ability to play or even read. The aware ones were supposed to pretend, I guess. At least, that's what I did.
As I scanned the room, my gaze fell on someone standing near the window. Eliana. She was often here. I've been waiting for a while for her lucid cycles, and today, there was something different in the way she looked, as though she'd finally seen something that mattered to her.
Before I could think better of it, I moved closer. Eliana turned, her eyes meeting mine, and I saw something in them—a flicker of recognition, of warmth, almost as if she'd been waiting for me. And then, unexpectedly, she reached out and took my hands in hers. Her touch was warm even tho her hands were so cold.
"You are such a good girl," she murmured, her voice soft and trembling. The words took me off guard. It had been so long since anyone looked at me that way, with kindness, with something that felt real.
But there was more than kindness in her eyes; it was as if her true self was caged somewhere deep in her mind, scratching desperately, clawing its way toward the light, pressing up against her gaze. Her smile held, but her eyes betrayed her—a glimpse of someone fierce fighting to break free, just waiting for the crack.
She held onto my hands tightly, her gaze slipping past me as if she were looking through me into some distant memory. "My Max..." she began, her voice almost a whisper. "When he was just a boy, I'm not sure if he was older than ten; I found him with this boy, Philip, doing what looked like kissing."
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. I hadn't expected that. Phil? Like my brother? And...Max... with his cold manipulation and heartlessness, seemed worlds away from the innocent boy she was describing.
