Chapter 12 Hunger Strike

• The door creaked softly for the third time that week.
• Misty stepped into the room with hesitant steps, balancing a tray in her hands. The fireplace crackled quietly in the corner, casting a golden glow over the heavy tapestries and dark wooden furniture. The scent of warm stew, fresh bread, and red berries filled the air, but Eulalia didn’t move.
• She lay curled up on the bed, her hair tangled, partially covering her face, and her eyes red and swollen from crying. The sheets were wrinkled, and the previous plate sat untouched on the side table—cold and forgotten.