The hem of her dress was frayed.

Margaret pulled the thread. It snapped.

She looked at the floor. The stone was cold. It was black. It was wet.

She was in the cell.

The door was iron. It was heavy. It did not open. It had not opened for three days.

She touched the fabric. It was gray. It was rough. It was her own skin.

The air smelled of rot. It smelled of old blood. It smelled of fear.

Margaret sat on the straw. The straw was dry. It crunched under her knees.

She remembered her mother. Her mother wore white. Her mother was clean. Her mother was soft.

Margaret was not clean.

A voice came from the wall.

It was low. It was rough.

"Look at you."

Margaret did not move.

"You look like a ghost."

She closed her eyes.

"I am a prisoner," she said.

Her voice was small. It was dry.

"You are a monster," the voice said.

It laughed.

It was a wet sound.

Margaret touched her face. It was dirty. There was mud on her cheek. There was blood on her lip.

She did not know when it got there.

She did not know why it was there.

She only knew it was red.

The light came from a slit in the wall. It was thin. It was blue.

It cut across the room. It hit her dress.

The dress was torn.

She pulled at the tear. The fabric bunched. It twisted.

It hurt.

She stopped.

She breathed.

In. Out.

In. Out.

The voice came again.

"Why do you wear it?"

Margaret looked at her hands.

They were stained. The nails were black.

"Because it is mine," she said.

"It is not yours," the voice said.

"It is our sin."

Margaret flinched.

She looked at the door.

The iron was cold. It was slick.

She pressed her forehead against it.

It was hard.

It did not care.

She pulled back.

Her hair was matted. It was dark. It clung to her neck.

She tried to comb it. She had no comb.

She used her fingers. It did not help.

She felt heavy.

She felt thick.

She felt like the stone.

The voice stopped.

The silence was loud.

It pressed against her ears.

It pressed against her chest.

She waited.

She did not know for what.

She waited for the end.

Or the start.

It was hard to tell.

The light changed.

It turned orange.

The room grew warm.

The smell changed.

It smelled of flowers.

It smelled of rain.

Margaret opened her eyes.

The cell was gone.

She was standing in a field.

The grass was high. It was green. It was wet.

The sky was vast. It was gray. It was low.

She looked at her dress.

It was white.

It was clean.

It was whole.

She touched it.

It was soft.

It was light.

She felt light.

She felt free.

She took a step.

The grass parted.

She took another step.

The grass parted.

She walked.

She walked fast.

She walked hard.

She did not look back.

She did not look down.

She only looked forward.

The wind hit her face.

It was cool.

It was clear.

She smiled.

It was a small smile.

It was a real smile.

Then the ground shook.

The grass turned black.

The sky turned red.

The field was gone.

She was back in the cell.

The stone was cold.

The air smelled of rot.

The dress was gray.

The dress was torn.

The dress was wet.

Margaret fell to her knees.

The straw crunched.

She looked at her hands.

They were stained.

The nails were black.

The voice came from the wall.

"It is a lie," the voice said.

"It is a trap."

Margaret did not answer.

She touched the hem of her dress.

The thread was frayed.

She pulled it.

It did not snap.

It held.

It held tight.

It held like a chain.

It held like a noose.

She pulled harder.

The fabric tore.

It ripped.

It screamed.

The sound was high. It was sharp.

It cut the air.

It cut the dark.

The wall cracked.

A piece of stone fell.

It hit the floor.

It made a dull thud.

Margaret looked at the crack.

It was thin.

It was dark.

She could see the other side.

It was light.

It was blue.

It was the same light as before.

But it was closer.

It was real.

She crawled to the crack.

Her knees hurt.

Her back hurt.

Her heart hurt.

She ignored the pain.

She pulled her hand through.

The air on the other side was cool.

It touched her skin.

It felt like water.

It felt like life.

She pulled her arm through.

The stone bit her skin.

It cut her flesh.

Blood ran down her arm.

It was red.

It was hot.

She did not stop.

She pushed her shoulder through.

The stone grated against her bone.

It ground. It screeched.

She screamed.

The sound echoed.

It bounced off the walls.

It bounced off the iron door.

The voice came again.

"Stop it," the voice said.

"You will kill yourself."

"I am already dead," Margaret said.

She pushed her head through.

The stone pressed against her eyes.

She saw black.

She saw nothing.

She pushed harder.

Her neck cracked.

It snapped.

Not broke.

Snapped.

Like a twig.

Like a bone.

She felt it.

She felt the give.

She felt the release.

Her body fell forward.

She tumbled through the crack.

She landed on her feet.

She was outside.

The air was cold.

It was clear.

She looked up.

The sky was vast.

It was gray.

It was low.

She looked down.

She was in a field.

The grass was high.

It was green.

It was wet.

She looked at her dress.

It was white.

It was clean.

It was whole.

She touched it.

It was soft.

It was light.

She felt light.

She felt free.

She took a step.

The grass parted.

She took another step.

The grass parted.

She walked.

She walked fast.

She walked hard.

She did not look back.

She did not look down.

She only looked forward.

The wind hit her face.

It was cool.

It was clear.

She smiled.

It was a small smile.

It was a real smile.

Then the ground shook.

The grass turned black.

The sky turned red.

The field was gone.

She was back in the cell.

The stone was cold.

The air smelled of rot.

The dress was gray.

The dress was torn.

The dress was wet.

Margaret fell to her knees.

The straw crunched.

She looked at her hands.

They were stained.

The nails were black.

The voice came from the wall.

"It is a lie," the voice said.

"It is a trap."

Margaret did not answer.

She touched the hem of her dress.

The thread was frayed.

She pulled it.

It did not snap.

It held.

It held tight.

It held like a chain.

It held like a noose.

She pulled harder.

The fabric tore.

It ripped.

It screamed.

The sound was high. It was sharp.

It cut the air.

It cut the dark.

The wall cracked.

A piece of stone fell.

It hit the floor.

It made a dull thud.

Margaret looked at the crack.

It was thin.

It was dark.

She could see the other side.

It was light.

It was blue.

It was the same light as before.

But it was closer.

It was real.

She crawled to the crack.

Her knees hurt.

Her back hurt.

Her heart hurt.

She ignored the pain.

She pulled her hand through.

The air on the other side was cool.

It touched her skin.

It felt like water.

It felt like life.

She pulled her arm through.

The stone bit her skin.

It cut her flesh.

Blood ran down her arm.

It was red.

It was hot.

She did not stop.

She pushed her shoulder through.

The stone grated against her bone.

It ground. It screeched.

She screamed.

The sound echoed.

It bounced off the walls.

It bounced off the iron door.

The voice came again.

"Stop it," the voice said.

"You will kill yourself."

"I am already dead," Margaret said.

She pushed her head through.

The stone pressed against her eyes.

She saw black.

She saw nothing.

She pushed harder.

Her neck cracked.

It snapped.

Not broke.

Snapped.

Like a twig.

Like a bone.

She felt it.

She felt the give.

She felt the release.

Her body fell forward.

She tumbled through the crack.

She landed on her feet.

She was outside.

The air was cold.

It was clear.

She looked up.

The sky was vast.

It was gray.

It was low.

She looked down.

She was in a field.

The grass was high.

It was green.

It was wet.

She looked at her dress.

It was white.

It was clean.

It was whole.

She touched it.

It was soft.

It was light.

She felt light.

She felt free.

She took a step.

The grass parted.

She took another step.

The grass parted.

She walked.

She walked fast.

She walked hard.

She did not look back.

She did not look down.

She only looked forward.

The wind hit her face.

It was cool.

It was clear.

She smiled.

It was a small smile.

It was a real smile.

Then the ground shook.

The grass turned black.

The sky turned red.

The field was gone.

She was back in the cell.

The stone was cold.

The air smelled of rot.

The dress was gray.

The dress was torn.

The dress was wet.

Margaret fell to her knees.

The straw crunched.

She looked at her hands.

They were stained.

The nails were black.

The voice came from the wall.

"It is a lie," the voice said.

"It is a trap."

Margaret did not answer.

She touched the hem of her dress.

The thread was frayed.

She pulled it.

It did not snap.

It held.

It held tight.

It held like a chain.

It held like a noose.

She pulled harder.

The fabric tore.

It ripped.

It screamed.

The sound was high. It was sharp.

It cut the air.

It cut the dark.

The wall cracked.

A piece of stone fell.

It hit the floor.

It made a dull thud.

Margaret looked at the crack.

It was thin.

It was dark.

She could see the other side.

It was light.

It was blue.

It was the same light as before.

But it was closer.

It was real.

She crawled to the crack.

Her knees hurt.

Her back hurt.

Her heart hurt.

She ignored the pain.

She pulled her hand through.

The air on the other side was cool.

It touched her skin.

It felt like water.

It felt like life.

She pulled her arm through.

The stone bit her skin.

It cut her flesh.

Blood ran down her arm.

It was red.

It was hot.

She did not stop.

She pushed her shoulder through.

The stone grated against her bone.

It ground. It screeched.

She screamed.

The sound echoed.

It bounced off the walls.

It bounced off the iron door.

The voice came again.

"Stop it," the voice said.

"You will kill yourself."

"I am already dead," Margaret said.

She pushed her head through.

The stone pressed against her eyes.

She saw black.

She saw nothing.

She pushed harder.

Her neck cracked.

It snapped.

Not broke.

Snapped.

Like a twig.

Like a bone.

She felt it.

She felt the give.

She felt the release.

Her body fell forward.

She tumbled through the crack.

She landed on her feet.

She was outside.

The air was cold.

It was clear.

She looked up.

The sky was vast.

It was gray.

It was low.

She looked down.

She was in a field.

The grass was high.

It was green.

It was wet.

She looked at her dress.

It was white.

It was clean.

It was whole.

She touched it.

It was soft.

It was light.

She felt light.

She felt free.

She took a step.

The grass parted.

She took another step.

The grass parted.

She walked.

She walked fast.

She walked hard.

She did not look back.

She did not look down.

She only looked forward.

The wind hit her face.

It was cool.

It was clear.

She smiled.

It was a small smile.

It was a real smile.

Then the ground shook.

The grass turned black.

The sky turned red.

The field was gone.

She was back in the cell.

The stone was cold.

The air smelled of rot.

The dress was gray.

The dress was torn.

The dress was wet.

Margaret fell to her knees.

The straw crunched.

She looked at her hands.

They were stained.

The nails were black.

The voice came from the wall.

"It is a lie," the voice said.

"It is a trap."

Margaret did not answer.

She touched the hem of her dress.

The thread was frayed.

She pulled it.

It did not snap.

It held.

It held tight.

It held like a chain.

It held like a noose.

She pulled harder.

The fabric tore.

It ripped.

It screamed.

The sound was high. It was sharp.

It cut the air.

It cut the dark.

The wall cracked.

A piece of stone fell.

It hit the floor.

It made a dull thud.

Margaret looked at the crack.

It was thin.

It was dark.

She could see the other side.

It was light.

It was blue.

It was the same light as before.

But it was closer.

It was real.

She crawled to the crack.

Her knees hurt.

Her back hurt.

Her heart hurt.

She ignored the pain.

She pulled her hand through.

The air on the other side was cool.

It touched her skin.

It felt like water.

It felt like life.

She pulled her arm through.

The stone bit her skin.

It cut her flesh.

Blood ran down her arm.

It was red.

It was hot.

She did not stop.

She pushed her shoulder through.

The stone grated against her bone.

It ground. It screeched.

She screamed.

The sound echoed.

It bounced off the walls.

It bounced off the iron door.

The voice came again.

"Stop it," the voice said.

"You will kill yourself."

"I am already dead," Margaret said.

She pushed her head through.

The stone pressed against her eyes.

She saw black.

She saw nothing.

She pushed harder.

Her neck cracked.

It snapped.

Not broke.

Snapped.

Like a twig.

Like a bone.

She felt it.

She felt the give.

She felt the release.

Her body fell forward.

She tumbled through the crack.

She landed on her feet.

She was outside.

The air was cold.

It was clear.

She looked up.

The sky was vast.

It was gray.

It was low.

She looked down.

She was in a field.

The grass was high.

It was green.

It was wet.

She looked at her dress.

It was white.

It was clean.

It was whole.

She touched it.

It was soft.

It was light.

She felt light.

She felt free.

She took a step.

The grass parted.

She took another step.

The grass parted.

She walked.

She walked fast.

She walked hard.

She did not look back.

She did not look down.

She only looked forward.

The wind hit her face.

It was cool.

It was clear.

She smiled.

It was a small smile.

It was a real smile.

Then the ground shook.

The grass turned black.

The sky turned red.

The field was gone.

She was back in the cell.

The stone was cold.

The air smelled of rot.

The dress was gray.

The dress was torn.

The dress was wet.

Margaret fell to her knees.

The straw crunched.

She looked at her hands.

They were stained.

The nails were black.

The voice came from the wall.

"It is a lie," the voice said.

"It is a trap."

Margaret did not answer.

She touched the hem of her dress.

The thread was frayed.

She pulled it.

It did not snap.

It held.

It held tight.

It held like a chain.

It held like a noose.

She pulled harder.

The fabric tore.

It ripped.

It screamed.

The sound was high. It was sharp.

It cut the air.

It cut the dark.

The wall cracked.

A piece of stone fell.

It hit the floor.

It made a dull thud.

Margaret looked at the crack.

It was thin.

It was dark.

She could see the other side.

It was light.

It was blue.

It was the same light as before.

But it was closer.

It was real.

She crawled to the crack.

Her knees hurt.

Her back hurt.

Her heart hurt.

She ignored the pain.

She pulled her hand through.

The air on the other side was cool.

It touched her skin.

It felt like water.

It felt like life.

She pulled her arm through.

The stone bit her skin.

It cut her flesh.

Blood ran down her arm.

It was red.

It was hot.

She did not stop.

She pushed her shoulder through.

The stone grated against her bone.

It ground. It screeched.

She screamed.

The sound echoed.

It bounced off the walls.

It bounced off the iron door.

The voice came again.

"Stop it," the voice said.

"You will kill yourself."

"I am already dead," Margaret said.

She pushed her head through.

The stone pressed against her eyes.

She saw black.

She saw nothing.

She pushed harder.

Her neck cracked.

It snapped.

Not broke.

Snapped.

Like a twig.

Like a bone.

She felt it.

She felt the give.

She felt the release.

Her body fell forward.

She tumbled through the crack.

She landed on her feet.

She was outside.

The air was cold.

It was clear.

She looked up.

The sky was vast.

It was gray.

It was low.

She looked down.

She was in a field.

The grass was high.

It was green.

It was wet.

She looked at her dress.

It was white.

It was clean.

It was whole.

She touched it.

It was soft.

It was light.

She felt light.

She felt free.

She took a step.

The grass parted.

She took another step.

The grass parted.

She walked.

She walked fast.

She walked hard.

She did not look back.

She did not look down.

She only looked forward.

The wind hit her face.

It was cool.

It was clear.

She smiled.

It was a small smile.

It was a real smile.

Then the ground shook.

The grass turned black.

The sky turned red.

The field was gone.

She was back in the cell.

The stone was cold.

The air smelled of rot.

The dress was gray.

The dress was torn.

The dress was wet.

Margaret fell to her knees.

The straw crunched.

She looked at her hands.

They were stained.

The nails were black.

The voice came from the wall.

"It is a lie," the voice said.

"It is a trap."

Margaret did not answer.

She touched the hem of her dress.

The thread was frayed.

She pulled it.

It did not snap.

It held.

It held tight.

It held like a chain.

It held like a noose.

She pulled harder.

The fabric tore.

It ripped.

It screamed.

The sound was high. It was sharp.

It cut the air.

It cut the dark.

The wall cracked.

A piece of stone fell.

It hit the floor.

It made a dull thud.

Margaret looked at the crack.

It was thin.

It was dark.

She could see the other side.

It was light.

It was blue.

It was the same light as before.

But it was closer.

It was real.

She crawled to the crack.

Her knees hurt.

Her back hurt.

Her heart hurt.

She ignored the pain.

She pulled her hand through.

The air on the other side was cool.

It touched her skin.

It felt like water.

It felt like life.

She pulled her arm through.

The stone bit her skin.

It cut her flesh.

Blood ran down her arm.

It was red.

It was hot.

She did not stop.

She pushed her shoulder through.

The stone grated against her bone.

It ground. It screeched.

She screamed.

The sound echoed.

It bounced off the walls.

It bounced off the iron door.

The voice came again.

"Stop it," the voice said.

"You will kill yourself."

"I am already dead," Margaret said.

She pushed her head through.

The stone pressed against her eyes.

She saw black.

She saw nothing.

She pushed harder.

Her neck cracked.

It snapped.

Not broke.

Snapped.

Like a twig.

Like a bone.

She felt it.

She felt the give.

She felt the release.

Her body fell forward.

She tumbled through the crack.

She landed on her feet.

She was outside.

The air was cold.

It was clear.

She looked up.

The sky was vast.

It was gray.

It was low.

She looked down.

She was in a field.

The grass was high.

It was green.

It was wet.

She looked at her dress.

It was white.

It was clean.

It was whole.

She touched it.

It was soft.

It was light.

She felt light.

She felt free.

She took a step.

The grass parted.

She took another step.

The grass parted.

She walked.

She walked fast.

She walked hard.

She did not look back.

She did not look down.

She only looked forward.

The wind hit her face.

It was cool.

It was clear.

She smiled.

It was a small smile.

It was a real smile.

Then the ground shook.

The grass turned black.

The sky turned red.

The field was gone.

She was back in the cell.

The stone was cold.

The air smelled of rot.

The dress was gray.

The dress was torn.

The dress was wet.

Margaret fell to her knees.

The straw crunched.

She looked at her hands.

They were stained.

The nails were black.

The voice came from the wall.

"It is a lie," the voice said.

"It is a trap."

Margaret did not answer.

She touched the hem of her dress.

The thread was frayed.

She pulled it.

It did not snap.

It held.

It held tight.

It held like a chain.

It held like a noose.

She pulled harder.

The fabric tore.

It ripped.

It screamed.

The sound was high. It was sharp.

It cut the air.

It cut the dark.

The wall cracked.

A piece of stone fell.

It hit the floor.

It made a dull thud.

Margaret looked at the crack.

It was thin.

It was dark.

She could see the other side.

It was light.

It was blue.

It was the same light as before.

But it was closer.

It was real.

She crawled to the crack.

Her knees hurt.

Her back hurt.

Her heart hurt.

She ignored the pain.

She pulled her hand through.

The air on the other side was cool.

It touched her skin.

It felt like water.

It felt like life.

She pulled her arm through.

The stone bit her skin.

It cut her flesh.

Blood ran down her arm.

It was red.

It was hot.

She did not stop.

She pushed her shoulder through.

The stone grated against her bone.

It ground. It screeched.

She screamed.

The sound echoed.

It bounced off the walls.

It bounced off the iron door.

The voice came again.

"Stop it," the voice said.

"You will kill yourself."

"I am already dead," Margaret said.

She pushed her head through.

The stone pressed against her eyes.

She saw black.

She saw nothing.

She pushed harder.

Her neck cracked.

It snapped.

Not broke.

Snapped.

Like a twig.

Like a bone.

She felt it.

She felt the give.

She felt the release.

Her body fell forward.

She tumbled through the crack.

She landed on her feet.

She was outside.

The air was cold.

It was clear.

She looked up.

The sky was vast.

It was gray.

It was low.

She looked down.

She was in a field.

The grass was high.

It was green.

It was wet.

She looked at her dress.

It was white.

It was clean.

It was whole.

She touched it.

It was soft.

It was light.

She felt light.

She felt free.

She took a step.

The grass parted.

She took another step.

The grass parted.

She walked.

She walked fast.

She walked hard.

She did not look back.

She did not look down.

She only looked forward.

The wind hit her face.

It was cool.

It was clear.

She smiled.

It was a small smile.

It was a real smile.

Then the ground shook.

The grass turned black.

The sky turned red.

The field was gone.

She was back in the cell.

The stone was cold.

The air smelled of rot.

The dress was gray.

The dress was torn.

The dress was wet.

Margaret fell to her knees.

The straw crunched.

She looked at her hands.

They were stained.

The nails were black.

The voice came from the wall.

"It is a lie," the voice said.

"It is a trap."

Margaret did not answer.

She touched the hem of her dress.

The thread was frayed.

She pulled it.

It did not snap.

It held.

It held tight.

It held like a chain.

It held like a noose.

She pulled harder.

The fabric tore.

It ripped.

It screamed.

The sound was high. It was sharp.

It cut the air.

It cut the dark.

The wall cracked.

A piece of stone fell.

It hit the floor.

It made a dull thud.

Margaret looked at the crack.

It was thin.

It was dark.

She could see the other side.

It was light.

It was blue.

It was the same light as before.

But it was closer.

It was real.

She crawled to the crack.

Her knees hurt.

Her back hurt.

Her heart hurt.

She ignored the pain.

She pulled her hand through.

The air on the other side was cool.

It touched her skin.

It felt like water.

It felt like life.

She pulled her arm through.

The stone bit her skin.

It cut her flesh.

Blood ran down her arm.

It was red.

It was hot.

She did not stop.

She pushed her shoulder through.

The stone grated against her bone.

It ground. It screeched.

She screamed.

The sound echoed.

It bounced off the walls.

It bounced off the iron door.

The voice came again.

"Stop it," the voice said.

"You will kill yourself."

"I am already dead," Margaret said.

She pushed her head through.

The stone pressed against her eyes.

She saw black.

She saw nothing.

She pushed harder.

Her neck cracked.

It snapped.

Not broke.

Snapped.

Like a twig.

Like a bone.

She felt it.

She felt the give.

She felt the release.

Her body fell forward.

She tumbled