a place where penalty stays and silence has edges.
"you can whisper in here, but the walls already heard your sins."
the room is cold. not temperature—something older. a chill that settles beneath your skin. curtains don’t move, but you feel watched. not with curiosity. with certainty.
maridith leaves no trace, but you’ll know she’s been here. the mirror is clean, too clean. the dust is shaped like crossed hands. a veil hangs where no window should be.
everything is sharp. deliberate. precise. even the air. speak carefully. she’s listening. and she never forgets.