The iron maiden stood in the center of the hall. It did not breathe. It did not blink. It was a cage of black bars, taller than a man, wider than a door. The air inside was thick with the smell of wet wool and old dust.

Margaret stood before it. Her hands hung by her sides. They were cold. The frostbite had not left her fingers in three years. She looked at the cage. She looked at the reflection in the glass panes. The glass was dark. The reflection was not hers. It was a woman with hollow cheeks. It was a woman with eyes that burned like coals.

The house was silent. The wind howled outside. It scraped against the windows like fingernails on a chalkboard. The house was old. It was built in the age of steam and iron. The pipes groaned in the walls. They sang a low, mournful song. The song was the same every night. It was the song of the house. It was the song of the past.

Margaret was the master of the house. She lived alone. Her mother was gone. Her mother had died in the cellar. The cellar was sealed. The door was locked with a padlock of brass. The key was in Margaret’s pocket. She touched the key. It was warm. It burned her skin.

She moved closer to the cage. The floorboards creaked. They were old wood. They were rotting. The wood smelled of decay. It smelled of death.

The cage was empty. Or so it seemed. The bars were thin. They were sharp. They cut the light. The light from the chandelier fell in stripes. The stripes fell on the floor. They fell on Margaret’s face. Her face was pale. Her skin was like paper.

She reached out. Her fingers touched the iron. It was cold. It was harder than stone. It was colder than the winter outside. She pulled her hand back. A mark remained on her palm. A red line. It was the shape of the bars.

She looked at the mark. It did not hurt. It did not bleed. It was just there. It was a brand. It was a promise.

The mirror on the wall was large. It was oval. It was framed in gold. The gold was tarnished. It was green with age. Margaret looked into the mirror. She saw the woman with the hollow cheeks. She saw the woman with the burning eyes. The woman smiled. Margaret did not smile.

The woman in the mirror raised her hand. She pointed at the cage. The point was a finger. It was a bony finger. It was a accusing finger.

Margaret turned away. She walked to the window. The glass was thick. It was double-paned. She could not see the yard. She could see the fog. The fog was thick. It was gray. It moved slowly. It moved like a liquid. It moved like a soul.

She opened the window. The air rushed in. It was cold. It was wet. It carried the scent of rain. It carried the scent of earth. The earth was wet. The earth was soft. The earth was alive.

She looked down. The yard was empty. The grass was black. The flowers were dead. The trees were bare. The branches reached up. They reached for the sky. They reached for the light. The light was gone. The light was hidden.

She closed the window. The latch clicked. The sound was loud. The sound was sharp. The sound was final.

She walked back to the cage. The woman in the mirror was watching. The woman’s eyes were wide. The woman’s mouth was open. The woman was screaming. But there was no sound. There was no sound in the house. There was only the groan of the pipes.

Margaret sat on the bench. The bench was wooden. It was hard. It was cold. She put her head in her hands. Her hair was long. It was dark. It fell over her face. It hid her eyes.

She remembered the day. The day was bright. The day was full of sun. The day was full of life. Her mother was in the garden. Her mother was picking flowers. The flowers were red. The flowers were white. The flowers were yellow. The mother’s hands were dirty. The mother’s face was happy.

The mother called out. She called Margaret’s name. She called it softly. She called it with love. The love was in the air. The love was in the light. The love was in the sound.

Margaret walked to the garden. The path was stone. The stone was warm. The stone was smooth. The grass was green. The grass was soft. The air was sweet. The air was full of life.

She reached her mother. She kissed her cheek. Her mother’s skin was warm. Her mother’s skin was soft. Her mother’s eyes were bright. Her mother’s eyes were full of joy.

The mother gave her a dress. The dress was white. The dress was made of silk. The silk was smooth. The silk was cool. The dress fit her perfectly. It was a gift. It was a promise.

The mother wrapped the dress in a box. The box was brown. The box was paper. The paper was strong. The paper was old. The mother handed it to Margaret.

“Keep it,” the mother said. “Keep it safe.”

Margaret took the box. She held it tight. She held it to her chest. The box was light. The box was warm. The box was full of love.

She wore the dress. She wore it to the party. The party was in the hall. The hall was large. The hall was bright. The people were many. The people were loud. The people were happy.

Margaret danced. She danced with a man. The man was tall. The man was dark. The man was strong. The man was smiling. The man was kind.

They danced until the music stopped. The music stopped abruptly. The lights went out. The darkness fell. The darkness was total. The darkness was absolute.

Margaret felt a hand. The hand was cold. The hand was rough. The hand was on her arm. The hand was pulling her. She struggled. She pushed. She screamed.

The man laughed. The laugh was low. The laugh was dark. The laugh was cruel.

He dragged her to the cellar. The cellar was dark. The cellar was damp. The cellar smelled of mold. The cellar smelled of rot.

He threw her on the floor. The floor was cold. The floor was hard. The floor was wet.

He locked the door. The lock clicked. The sound was loud. The sound was sharp. The sound was final.

She was alone. She was in the dark. She was in the cold. She was in the fear.

She waited. She waited for hours. She waited for days. She did not know how long. Time had stopped. Time had frozen. Time had broken.

The door opened. Light flooded in. The light was blinding. The light was white. The light was cold.

A man stood there. The man was her father. The father’s face was pale. The father’s eyes were red. The father’s hands were shaking.

He looked at her. He looked at the floor. He looked at the blood. The blood was hers. The blood was on the floor. The blood was spreading.

He did not speak. He did not move. He did not blink.

He turned. He walked away. He walked into the dark. The dark swallowed him. The dark was total. The dark was absolute.

Margaret was alone. She was in the dark. She was in the cold. She was in the fear.

She died. She died in the cellar. She died in the dark. She died in the cold.

But she did not stay. She did not rest. She did not sleep.

She came back. She came back as a ghost. She came back as a curse. She came back as a promise.

The promise was in the dress. The dress was in the cage. The cage was in the hall. The hall was in the house. The house was in the fog. The fog was in the world. The world was in the mind. The mind was in the soul. The soul was in the dark.

Margaret stood up. She walked to the cage. The woman in the mirror was gone. The mirror was empty. The mirror was black.

Margaret opened the cage. The door swung open. The hinge squeaked. The sound was high. The sound was thin. The sound was sad.

She stepped inside. The bars were cold. The bars were sharp. The bars were hard.

She closed the door. The lock clicked. The sound was loud. The sound was sharp. The sound was final.

She was inside. She was in the dark. She was in the cold. She was in the fear.

But she was not alone. She was with the dress. The dress was on her. The dress was white. The dress was silk. The dress was smooth. The dress was cool.

The dress was the promise. The promise was the bond. The bond was the chain. The chain was the cage. The cage was the prison. The prison was the self.

She chose it. She chose the cage. She chose the dark. She chose the cold. She chose the fear.

She chose it because it was hers. She chose it because it was true. She chose it because it was real.

The pipes groaned. The wind howled. The fog moved. The house stood. The house was silent. The house was still. The house was waiting.

The waiting was long. The waiting was endless. The waiting was eternal.

Margaret sat on the floor. The floor was cold. The floor was hard. The floor was wet.

She closed her eyes. The darkness was inside. The darkness was outside. The darkness was everywhere.

She opened her eyes. The light was gone. The light was hidden. The light was lost.

She was free. She was free from the world. She was free from the sun. She was free from the life.

She was free in the cage. She was free in the dark. She was free in the cold.

She was free.

The iron maiden stood in the center of the hall. It did not breathe. It did not blink. It was a cage of black bars. It was a cage of silence. It was a cage of eternity.

The door was locked. The key was in the pocket. The pocket was on the bench. The bench was empty. The hall was empty.

The wind howled. The fog moved. The house stood.

The house was waiting.