The Brutal Truth

POV: Freya

I pushed the heavy oak door shut, the soft click of the latch echoing in the quiet sanctuary of my room. Sleep felt like a distant, impossible concept. I crossed the floor and sank into the armchair positioned by the window. Outside, the moon hung low and heavy over the treetops. Its silver light spilled across the rushing waters of the creek, turning the ripples into glittering glass.