June 14th, 2045, 8:00pm.
My eyes slide open.
Given how many times I have lived through this day, I know every inch of this place. The length of the bed canopy, its width, the smell of incense, the ticking of the grandfather clock outside, the shape and make of the chains around my ankles, and the rotation of guard duty.
Any minute now, I will hear those footsteps echo in the hallway, and my sister will walk inside my bedroom to cry about not being pregnant with my husband's child.
A few things had to be in place. Readied. If I was going to successfully escape today.
The doors fly open, and like clockwork, Penelope saunters inside.
When given an image fifty times, you tend to notice fifty different things about it. The first time, I had only been able to see that she looked stunning–my insecurity speaking. Today, however, I see the dark circles beneath her eyes, and the redness there like she's been crying. I see the desperate tremors in her fingers and how they grip her dress.
