The silence after Father was dragged away settled like a thick fog, swallowing the last thread of hope I’d been clinging to. Sasha’s sobs echoed in the dark, jagged and broken, like sothing inside her had finally snapped. I didn’t speak at first—I didn’t trust my voice not to shake—but watching her tremble in the corner, knees pulled close, shoulders shaking violently, sothing inside cracked too.
I had never seen Sasha like this.
Not loud.
Not cruel.
Not proud.
Just... small.
The bugs still buzzed restlessly around us; the cold gnawed at my bones; the faint tallic scent of fear hung in the air thicker than oxygen. But even with all of that, nothing was louder than her soft, whimpering cries.
"Sasha..." I whispered.
She didn’t look up. Her face was buried in her palms, wrists bound, hair sticking to her damp cheeks. She shook her head, as if attempting to curl into herself, disappear, erase the mont, erase everything.
"I’m sorry," she choked out suddenly, her voice cracking. "I’m so, so sorry."
The words stunned .
Sasha didn’t apologize. Not to anyone. Not once in the years I’d known her.
My hands were tied, but I crawled closer anyway, dragging myself across the cold floor, dirt rough against my knees.
"Sasha, hey—look at ," I murmured.
She didn’t. Her tears were falling too fast now, dripping onto her lap.
"They’re going to kill father," she whispered hoarsely. "And it’s my fault. It’s all my fault."
"None of this is your fault," I said gently.
She finally lifted her head. Her eyes, red and swollen, searched mine as if she was trying to decide whether she deserved comfort or condemnation. Her lips trembled.
"You don’t understand," she whispered, "you don’t understand what I’ve done."
She inhaled sharply, a sound full of grief and guilt—a sound that belonged to soone much older than she’d ever been allowed to be.
I swallowed hard. "Then tell ."
A shudder ran through her body, and she nodded slowly. Her voice trembled, but she forced each word out as though she owed the truth to the world... or maybe to herself.
"When Mother told you weren’t her real daughter..."
She paused and clamped her eyes shut, as if the mory burned.
"I hated you."
My chest tightened—not at the words, but at the pain dripping from them.
"She said you were chosen to replace ," Sasha continued bitterly. "She said you were ’better.’ That the moon goddess preferred you."
"Sasha—"
"No." She shook her head fiercely. "Let finish. I was jealous. Angry. And I didn’t even know why. I just... I knew she was softer with you. Kinder. She looked at you with a tenderness she never gave . And sotis I wondered—if maybe—maybe she wished you were her real child."
Her voice cracked again, and she wiped her nose with her shoulder. "So I treated you like a problem. Like competition. I let jealousy poison everything. I made you cry. I bullied you. I embarrassed you."
I rembered it all—the whispers, the insults, the smirks, the cold shoulders, the threats, the humiliation.
"Yes," I said softly. "You did."
She winced, as if she expected those words to strike her physically.
"And then..." Her breath hitched. "Brian."
My stomach twisted.
"I stole him," she whispered, sha dripping from every syllable. "Not because I loved him. Not because he loved . But because I wanted to take sothing from you. Sothing big. Sothing that would hurt."
Her voice was barely a breath now.
"And it did hurt you. I saw it. I saw the way you looked so lost. And I didn’t stop. I let everyone tease you. I let the pack gossip. I wanted them to see you as lesser."
My heart thudded painfully.
"And the night you told you wanted to run away..." Her voice turned hollow. "You begged to keep it a secret. You trusted enough to confide in ."
I felt my body go still.
Sasha’s eyes filled with fresh tears. "I had you kidnapped."
The words sliced through the darkness like a blade.
She sobbed violently then, breaking completely. "I was so angry that you were going to break the engagent. I wanted you to pay. I wanted you to stay trapped in that nightmare with him. I wanted you to suffer the way I thought I was suffering."
I stared at her, really stared.
All the nights I had cried myself to sleep.
All the mornings I had walked with bruises.
All the days I had wished to disappear.
All the monts I was violated by a man I didn’t choose.
And she... had chosen it.
Sasha couldn’t even et my gaze now. "I ruined your life. You trusted , and I—it was all my fault."
My throat tightened painfully. My heart felt like it might collapse.
But what surprised the most wasn’t anger.
It was sadness.
Deep, aching sadness for both of us.
I inhaled slowly. "Sasha... I didn’t know."
She shook her head. "I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to face it."
A heavy silence wrapped around us, broken only by her ragged breathing.
I exhaled and closed my eyes for a mont. "I forgive you."
Her head jerked up violently. "You—what?"
"I forgive you," I repeated quietly. "Not because what you did was small. It wasn’t. You hurt . You broke . But... Sasha, look at where we are."
I nodded toward the tal bars, the insects, the cold stone, the chains binding our wrists.
"This is not the ti for old wounds to poison us. We’re all we have left right now."
Her tears stread again, but this ti they ca softer, like rain instead of a storm.
"But... why would you forgive ?" she whispered.
"Because keeping hatred in my chest won’t set us free," I said. "Holding onto anger won’t save Father. And because—"
My voice broke.
"—because I never should have taken your place."
She blinked in shock. "Your place?"
"Yes," I whispered. "I didn’t know. Not until today. But I understand now. You were the real daughter. The true one. The one who belonged in your mother’s arms."
Sasha froze.
"And I took everything from you without knowing," I continued. "Her love. Your life. The position that should’ve been yours from birth. I was treated special, and you suffered silently."
"That’s not your fault," she choked out, shaking her head.
"It doesn’t matter," I whispered. "I still took it."
A tear slipped down my cheek.
"And I’m sorry, Sasha. I never ant to take anything from you. I never ant to be the reason you felt unloved."
She stared at like she was seeing for the first ti.
"I thought you ruined my life," she whispered. "But you didn’t. It was Mother. It was her lies. Her manipulation. She turned us against each other."
I nodded slowly. "Yes. She did."
"We should’ve been sisters." Her voice cracked. "Real sisters. Not enemies."
A soft, sad smile tugged at my lips. "We still can be."
She looked away, overwheld, then back at . "Do you really forgive ?"
"I do."
Her face crumpled again, and she leaned forward until her forehead rested against my shoulder. Her body shook with quiet sobs, and I wished my hands were free so I could hold her properly.
After a long mont, she whispered, "I forgive you, too."
I exhaled shakily, relief washing over .
We stayed like that for a long ti—two broken girls holding onto each other in a cage built by soone who was supposed to protect them.
Then Sasha sniffed and asked quietly, "Do you think... do you think Father is still alive?"
"I hope so," I whispered. "I hope we all are."
She nodded weakly. "Maria?"
"Yes?"
"I don’t want to die hating you."
A lump ford in my throat. "And I don’t want to die without knowing we were at peace."
She gave a tiny smile, the first real one I’d seen on her face in years. "We’re at peace now."
A mont passed.
Then another.
The quiet between us wasn’t heavy anymore. It was warm.
Fragile, but warm.
I exhaled deeply. "Sasha?"
"Yes?"
"I’m scared."
She leaned her head against mine. " too."
We stayed close, breathing the sa stale air, sharing the sa trembling fears. For the first ti, I didn’t feel alone, not in this prison, not in this chaos, not in this nightmare.
For the first ti, we were facing it together.
We sat in silence as light crept slowly into the room, crawling past the tal bars, illuminating the bruises on our skin, the dirt on our clothes, the weight in our eyes.
But between us... sothing new had started blooming.
Sothing fragile.
Sothing unexpected.
Sothing almost unbelievable.
Forgiveness.
And in a place built to break us, forgiveness felt like defiance.
Like hope.
I wasn’t sure if I it was actually hope I felt from our mont of reconciliation, or I just felt fulfilled that I had let out my grudges in the dying mont.
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