Chapter 555

"Thirty years?" Annabelle's voice rose sharply, her nails digging into her palms. "Have you lost your minds?"

The matron adjusted her cuffs with deliberate calm. "You stole thirty years of someone else's life. Consider this restitution."

Annabelle trembled, her flawless makeup cracking under the dim light. "I demand to see my parents! They won't abandon me!"

"Miss Taylor," the matron chuckled, "who do you think delivered you here?"

The words struck like a hammer, rooting Annabelle to the spot.

Scuffling noises came from the corridor. A cluster of preteens peered out, their eyes glinting like wolf cubs.

"Stop staring!" Annabelle shrieked.

A brick fragment whizzed past her ear, leaving a white scar on the wall.

"You little beasts!" She lunged forward, only to retreat under a hail of pebbles. Mud smeared her cashmere coat, reeking of decay.

The children erupted in laughter. One mimicked her in a singsong voice: "I demand to see my parents—"

Tears streaked through Annabelle's foundation. Suddenly she remembered the temperature-controlled pool at the Taylor mansion, the cookies Teresa used to bake.

"Dinner." A nun materialized at the corridor's end.

The cafeteria stank of mildew. Annabelle gagged at the sight of the grayish-green sludge in the pot.

"Where's my portion?" She blocked the departing nun.

The woman gave her an indifferent glance. "You earn your meals here. That's the rule."

In the kitchen, rats gnawed at potatoes piled in a corner. Annabelle's hands shook as she lit the stove. Steam scalded her fingers crimson.

"Smells delicious." Small faces emerged from the shadows.

Before she could react, the potato pot vanished. She tripped over an outstretched foot while chasing them, her forehead smacking the doorframe.

Blood dripped into the floorboard cracks. Distant chewing sounds echoed merrily.

The matron stood at the stairwell, cradling a tattered Bible.

"They'll kill me..." Annabelle crawled to clutch her trousers.

The matron bent down, skeletal fingers brushing blood-matted hair. "Then consider it penance, darling."

Moonlight striped the floor through iron bars like prison shadows. Curled on a reeking cot, Annabelle heard nails scratching wood outside her door.

"New girl," a child's voice whispered, "see you tomorrow."

In the darkness, Annabelle finally broke into sobs. This time, no one would murmur "Don't cry, Belle" with tender hands.