There is such a phenomenon as phantom freedom: you seem to have escaped the cage—its bars are behind you, and between you and the prison lie hundreds of miles of mountains, forests, and чужих cities. But inside, deep down—where the truth lives, one that no one will ever see—you are still there in the same place—you’re still locked up.
You can still hear his footsteps behind the door and count the seconds until the key turns in the lock and he comes in. And you don’t know what will happen next—tenderness or fury, a kiss or a blow—because monsters don’t have a schedule: they only have a mood.
And moods change like a mountain wind: it was quiet—and then suddenly a hurricane; it was light—and then, unexpectedly, darkness.