Nadia: A Short Story, Part 2

There was a sound, but she couldn’t tell exactly where it came from.

It was a soft sound, sort of like a song, but it was unlike any song she’d heard before. The melody hummed through the darkness, and she swore to herself that she’d heard her name whispered quietly, hidden in the sweet notes. 

It would have been a pleasant sound if it weren’t for the blackness surrounding her, which drowned out any possible sense of peace. But still, she was drawn to it. 

Her heart beat a little faster as she pulled herself to her feet, curious and cautious all at once. Was someone finally here to help her out of this prison?

It seemed too good to be true, but deep down, she decided it would be worth it to try again. She’d already scoured the walls, and there was nothing in the room except the bookshelf, on which she had spent hours searching desperately for some way of escape.

Ear to the wall, she held her breath, determined to find the source of the singing. Disappointed with the result, she moved on, crouching down on all fours to see if this was perhaps the answer.

The cold concrete against her face sent a shiver up her spine, and suddenly she wished she had a coat. Oh, how she wished for daylight.

She’d taken for granted the warm afternoon sunshine and the smell of cherry blossoms — proof of life right in her backyard. Never again.

Her knees ached from crawling around on the hard floor. Suddenly, she lifted her head. The sound was fading, and she could feel the tiny bit of hope she’d held onto all this time slip away with it. 

Laying down on her back, she closed her eyes. It was no use. She’d surely die here.

Wherever “here” was.

But as she blinked away the tears, she noticed something in the far corner of the ceiling. Something she’d overlooked this whole time.

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