She could neither go nor stay.

  Four years of struggle had shown her the truth—there was no way back. She possessed no secret patron, no hidden talent, no stroke of luck.

  Four years; four years of clawing at doors that would not open, of shouting into the void until her voice was hoarse. Magic had carried her here, but it seemed to have abandoned her, like a fickle friend who vanishes when most needed.

  She had offered and pleaded, fought and suffered—yet still, it was not enough. She had even walked the roads toward the capital, whispered prayers into the cracks of abandoned temples, knelt before altars where the gods' names had long since been scraped away.

  It had all started with magic—stories, myths, near-promises that once felt real. But now, looking back, it was hard to believe any of it had ever been true.

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  Time had worn away at her, her memories fading like old photographs left too long in the sun. Even her name—the real one, the one from before—had faded.

  It was better to do it herself. It felt like a quiet kind of rebellion. Perhaps it wasn’t defeat that had settled into her bones, but a kind of acceptance—the final acknowledgment that the world had never made her any promises.

  She stood in the center of the room, her gaze lingering on the faintly glowing candles. For a moment, she let herself imagine that something might answer her—that the magic might, at last, open a door she had yet to see. But the silence stretched, unbroken, and she let out a quiet breath.

  With trembling hands, she extinguished the candles one by one, their light winking out until only shadows remained. The scent of vanilla mingled with the last wisps of incense as she climbed onto the chair in the center of the room. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as though each step carried the weight of her entire life.

  She tied the noose with care, her fingers steady for the first time in years. With a final breath, Magdalena looked around her sanctuary—her prison—and bid farewell to Creation.

  The chair fell.

  And then, silence.