In the stillness of night, her body lies defeated—draped between the weight of thought and the ache of feeling. Strings pull at her heart and mind, yet her soul is absent, exhausted, surrendered. Once the master of her own being, she is now a puppet in unseen hands. This is not sleep—it is surrender. And as her spirit whispers into the void, only one question remains, echoing in silence: Who holds me now?
