We were both trapped by King Midas, though in very different ways. Both blinded—her, by love, and me, by hate. I think I see things now because I’ve finally started to look. My body stiffens with the residual waves of shame, and I swallow hard. Thinking of her trapped in here. Thinking of how it must’ve been. The favored was nothing but a prisoner. A whisper trembles from my lips, shaking out into the cold and empty room. “I’m sorry,” I say. Though it’s far too late for her to hear it.
