IRIS

The air in the room feels heavier today than the previous days, almost suffocating, and I realize I’ve been sitting in the same spot for hours. Even the sunlight slanting through the curtains doesn’t make it feel lighter.

Resting, yes. Darian insisted. And I’ve done exactly that… maybe too well.

I glance down at the floor, trying to convince myself that standing up will make a difference. It’s not just the room. It’s the stillness, the quiet.

I need air. I need space. Even my meals were brought here, my comfort wrapped in silver trays and delicate notes. I’ve become something ornamental, something precious, but I can’t shake the...