I wake in the cold.

The air bites my lungs. It smells of wet stone and old blood. I am here. I am always here. The walls are black. They weep. A thin, black fluid trickles down the rough-hewn blocks. It pools at my feet. I look down. My boots are soaked. I look up. The vault is endless. It spirals up into a dark that has no bottom.

I hold the key.

It is small. It is brass. It is warm. It burns my palm. I do not let go. I cannot let go. It is the only thing I have. It is the only thing that matters.

"Who is there?"

The voice comes from the shadows. It is low. It is rough. It is Thomas.

I do not answer. I cannot. My throat is tight. I grip the key tighter. The brass sears my skin. I flinch.

"Margaret."

He steps into the light. Or what passes for light in this place. A single torch burns on the wall. The flames are blue. They do not cast shadows. They swallow them.

Thomas is here. He looks thin. His face is gaunt. His eyes are hollow. He wears a robe of gray cloth. It is torn. It is stained. He looks like a man who has forgotten how to eat.

"Where is he?" I ask. My voice is a whisper. It cracks in the dry air.

Thomas does not answer. He walks toward me. His footsteps are slow. They echo. Clack. Clack. Clack.

"He is gone," Thomas says.

No.

No.

"Look at me, Margaret."

I look at him. I see the lie. It sits in his eyes. It is a small, bright spark. It is the same spark I see in the key. It is the same spark I feel in my chest.

"He is not gone," I say. "He is waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"For us."

Thomas smiles. It is a sad smile. It is a tired smile. He reaches out a hand. His fingers are long. They are pale. He tries to take the key from my grip.

"Give it to me."

I pull back. The key bites into my hand. The pain is sharp. It is clear. It is real.

"I can't."

"You must."

"Why?"

"Because you are tired."

I am tired. I am so tired. My bones ache. My mind is a fog. I have been here for years. Or days. Time does not move here. It stops. It breaks.

"He is not waiting," Thomas says. "He is lost."

My heart stops.

Lost.

The word hangs in the air. It is heavy. It is cold.

"No," I say. "No, he is not lost. I have the key. I have the path."

"Path?" Thomas laughs. It is a dry, brittle sound. "There is no path, Margaret. There is only the wall."

I look at the wall. It is black. It is solid. It is eternal.

But I have the key.

I have always had the key.

I turn the key in my hand. The teeth are worn smooth. They are perfect. They are made for a lock that does not exist.

"Show me," I say.

Thomas steps closer. He smells of earth. He smells of death.

"Show me the lock," I say.

He shakes his head.

"There is no lock."

"There is always a lock."

"No."

He moves fast. He is faster than I expected. His hand closes around my wrist. His grip is iron. He pulls. The key slips. It falls.

It hits the stone.

It makes a sound.

A high, clear ring.

It echoes.

It rings and rings and rings.

The sound fills the vault. It fills the air. It fills my head.

The black fluid on the wall stops moving.

The blue flames freeze.

Thomas freezes.

I freeze.

The key lies on the floor. It is bright. It is gold. It is beautiful.

I kneel. I reach for it. My hand trembles. My fingers touch the brass.

It is cold now.

It is dead.

I pick it up. I hold it in my open palm. I look at Thomas.

"What did you do?" I ask.

My voice is steady. My voice is calm.

Thomas looks at me. His face is blank. His eyes are empty.

"I freed you," he says.

"No."

"Yes."

"You lied."

"I told the truth."

"The truth?"

"The truth is that there is no one to free."

I stare at him. I stare at the key. I stare at the wall.

The wall is not black.

It is glass.

It is clear.

Behind the glass, there is a room.

It is small. It is warm. There is a table. There is a chair. There is a man.

He sits in the chair. He is reading. He is wearing a blue sweater. He is drinking tea.

It is Edward.

He looks up. He sees me. He smiles.

He waves.

He is alive.

He is safe.

He is alone.

I am here.

I am outside.

I look at Thomas. Thomas is gone. The space where he stood is empty. The air is still.

I look at the key.

It is not a key.

It is a bone.

It is a finger.

It is my finger.

I look at my hand.

My right hand is empty.

I have no right hand.

I have never had a right hand.

I have been holding this bone for years.

I have been holding this bone for a lifetime.

I look at the glass. I look at Edward. He is smiling. He is waving. He is happy.

He is free.

He is free because I am here.

He is free because I am the wall.

He is free because I am the lock.

I understand now.

The key does not open the door.

The key *is* the door.

The key *is* the lock.

The key *is* the jailer.

I am the jailer.

I am the jailer of my own love.

I am the jailer of his life.

I have kept him safe. I have kept him warm. I have kept him fed. I have kept him alive.

And I have kept myself in the cold.

I have kept myself in the dark.

I have kept myself in the pain.

I look at the bone in my left hand.

It is small. It is white. It is clean.

I can throw it away.

I can break it.

I can shatter the glass.

I can come in.

I can take his hand.

I can sit down.

I can drink the tea.

I can be with him.

I can be free.

I look at the bone.

I look at Edward.

He is waving.

He is waiting.

He is not waiting for me.

He is waving at the empty air.

He is waving at the ghost.

He is waving at me.

But he does not know I am here.

He does not know I am the wall.

He does not know I am the cold.

He does not know I am the pain.

He is free.

He is so free.

He is so happy.

I am so cold.

I am so tired.

I look at the bone.

I look at the glass.

I look at my empty hand.

I close my hand.

I do not throw it away.

I do not break it.

I do not shatter the glass.

I hold the bone.

I hold the pain.

I hold the cold.

I am the wall.

I am the lock.

I am the key.

I am the sacrifice.

I am the love.

I am the price.

I am the cost.

I am the golden ritual.

I am the golden ritual of letting go.

I am the golden ritual of staying.

I am the golden ritual of being the one who stays.

I am the golden ritual of being the one who suffers.

I am the golden ritual of being the one who is forgotten.

I am the golden ritual of being the one who is necessary.

I am the golden ritual of being the one who is invisible.

I am the golden ritual of being the one who is real.

I am the golden ritual of being the one who is here.

I am the golden ritual of being the one who is free.

I am free.

I am so free.

I am free to be the wall.

I am free to be the cold.

I am free to be the pain.

I am free to be the key.

I am free to be the lock.

I am free to be the jailer.

I am free to be the sacrifice.

I am free to be the love.

I am free to be the price.

I am free to be the cost.

I am free to be the ritual.

I am free to be the golden ritual.

I am free.

I am so free.

I am here.

I am always here.

I will always be here.

I will always hold the key.

I will always hold the pain.

I will always hold the cold.

I will always hold the bone.

I will always hold the wall.

I will always hold the lock.

I will always hold the sacrifice.

I will always hold the love.

I will always hold the price.

I will always hold the cost.

I will always hold the ritual.

I will always hold the golden ritual.

I will always be free.

I will always be here.

I will always be the wall.

I will always be the cold.

I will always be the pain.

I will always be the key.

I will always be the lock.

I will always be the jailer.

I will always be the sacrifice.

I will always be the love.

I will always be the price.

I will always be the cost.

I will always be the ritual.

I will always be the golden ritual.

I will always be free.

I will always be here.

I will always be the wall.

I will always be the cold.

I will always be the pain.

I will always be the key.

I will always be the lock.

I will always be the jailer.

I will always be the sacrifice.

I will always be the love.

I will always be the price.

I will always be the cost.

I will always be the ritual.

I will always be the golden ritual.

I will always be free.

I will always be here.