“There are days when the only thing I hear is the sound of their footsteps below. Sometimes they are slow and methodical, other times hurried, as if they are running away from something. But I cannot run. I am trapped here, among the dust and the memories that refuse to leave me in peace.
I look out from the small window and watch life go on in the street, but for me, time has stopped. I wonder if they know I am here. If they feel my gaze upon them as they walk through the garden. Probably not. For them, this house has only two floors. The attic is just an empty space, a forgotten detail in the architecture of their lives.
But I remember everything. I remember the night they brought me here, the smell of rain, and the sound of the key turning in the lock. It was the last time I felt fresh air on my face. Now, my only companions are the shadows and the questions that no longer matter.”
