"Even if I had known how hard it would be to stop loving you, I still would have longed for you."
They called it a kingdom—but kingdoms had kings and laws. This island had monsters.
The island rose like a kingdom stolen from time — a jagged stretch of land swallowed by violent seas, unreachable by anything but air or loyalty. The sun rose again and the beams of rays weren't any different even today. The same gloominess was prevailing even though it was bright and sunny. The castle stood—cold stone spires piercing the clouds, a symbol of untouchable power. It wasn't a palace; it was a fortress, where cruelty walked in polished shoes and gave orders with a glass of wine in hand. The rays of light were falling on the tower conical roofs making it shine brightly. It was as if it was almost burning the people inside but even if the sun isn't able to do that, these people surely do that.
Through the spirals of the castle, the town lying beneath it was living in poverty could be seen, the deep gushing forest and the beautiful waterfall was a contrast to the popularity residing beside it. It had it all
- from the tower, the island looked almost holy.
Dense emerald jungles stretched beyond the city walls, their canopies rippling like an ocean of leaves. The sunlight slanted through the treetops in golden shards, and from somewhere deep within, birds cried out in songs no one in the castle cared to name.
A silver thread of water carved its way through the green, widening into a waterfall that spilled off a cliff like silk unraveling from heaven. The sound of it—soft from this height—was like breath held too long. Mist rose from where it crashed below, catching the light and throwing up rainbows no one ever stopped to look at.
It was wild. Untouched. The only place on the island not dripping in chains.
Sometimes I wondered what it would feel like to stand beneath that waterfall, to let it swallow me whole.
But beauty on this island was a lie—just another mask for something that wanted to devour you.
I drifted my gaze back to the duster in my hand. The waterfall could wait, it always did. I pressed the cloth to the windowsill and kept wiping, as if cleaning away the dust might erase the hunger in my chest.
My eyes drifted down to the courtyard below, where a little boy ran barefoot toward his mother, clutching a crust of bread like it was treasure. His shirt hung off him like a rag, swallowing his thin frame, and his ribs pressed through his skin like he was made of twigs. My heart stung seeing him in that condition, in truth he was bringing his bread to his mother- who was working in the factory for the past five hours.
The factory- Yes there is a factory where these monsters in the form of humans force the women and children to work. Those little hands sew clothes until they get blisters and cuts in their hands. Those hands which are supposed to play with toys are given sewing needles. Before they learn how to say 'Mom' they are forced to forward their hands to beg for food from higher ups.
Whereas the women that are already sewing the clothes, don't get paid. They call it taxes, but I call it slavery. They tell us that we are paying taxes by working in the factory but I know they take these clothes and sell them far away in the city under a fancy fashion brand name. They make profits from the blood and sweat we shed here.
The word women here is nothing, a mere gust of pleasure for these brutes. Why would these brutes respect them when their own husbands don't?. When the women get carried away by those brutes these men pretend as if they have blindfolds on their eyes. It's like their hearts have been the one blinded.
Suddenly a sound of whipping reached my ear as I was carrying the bucket of water towards the corridor. My hands started trembling- not from fear but from the fire
of rage, despair and helplessness. I closed my eyes and wondered what it is this time- a mistake with clothes, broke something or she just existed?. Being women on this island was a curse— one that stripped you of dignity the moment you stepped onto this island. But again coming to this island wasn't really a choice for everyone. For some they were born here while some were forced and some were kidnapped.
This island might look like paradise at first glance — sunlight streaming through emerald canopies, waterfalls spilling like silver threads over stone — but beneath all that beauty, there's only blood and screams. The cries of the innocent are soaked into the soil.
In the daylight, the forest looks almost peaceful. But at night? It changes. The same trees seem to whisper — no, wail — as if they've been forced to watch the suffering for years and can no longer stay silent. Sometimes I wonder what other cruel secrets this place still hides. How much more pain is buried beneath its silence.
'Ava', I snapped back to reality when I heard someone taking my name. I turned around and saw her standing while carrying a set of clothes. I smiled but she gave me a firm stare and crouched beside me. Her wiry frame hidden beneath an oversized brown dress, sleeves rolled up to her elbows like always. Her hair was ash brown which unusually complimented her pale skin. Her pale skin was probably not from birth but from constant labour and malnutrition. Upon closer look I could see her freckles and the slight scars on her hand which were probably from childhood because they looked distant now.
She didn't say anything but quietly slipped an apple in my dress pocket.
"You've been working all day," she murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. "And you've got factory duty tonight. You'll need the energy."
Lily always spoke like that—soft, like her voice might be overheard by the wrong ears. But even in her quietness, there was something unshakable.
She had found a way to survive by smiling. That smile of hers was a small rebellion—one they hadn't managed to crush yet.
I looked down at the piece of bread in her hand. It was dry and torn, likely her only meal after a day's worth of backbreaking chores. And she was offering it to me.
My chest tightened. I gave her a small smile in return, touched and pained all at once.
"I can't," I whispered, trying to push it back toward her.
But she reached out and stopped my hand, firm and unyielding. Her fingers were calloused, trembling just slightly.
Maybe it's because she is used to it, she was brought up on this island. So she knew this island better than anyone. Lily was born into chains. She doesn't remember a world outside the walls of the island. Her mother died in the factory; her father, a laborer, disappeared one night and never returned. Rumors say he tried to escape. No one dares confirm it aloud.
From the time she could walk, Lily followed older maids around the castle, watching, memorizing—learning where the guards slept, which halls echoed the loudest, which passages led underground.
Now eighteen, Lily knows every stone in the castle like a friend or an enemy. Every hidden tunnel, every servant shortcut, every night patrol rotation—she cataloged it in silence.
But she's never tried to run. Because she learned a long time ago that there is no escape from this island, she has accepted her fate.
As the sun began to set, I went downstairs from the corridor. A massive metal door stood before me, stretching from roof to floor. It creaked open, and the crowd of girls swarmed forward like cattle, I was one of them. The sewing machines were lined in row and at one time hundred girls would sit and work. The room smelled of overheated machinery, singed threads, and perspiration soaked into cheap cloth. It was the scent of human labor—sour, mechanical, relentless.
It was a world without time—no windows, no clocks, just the endless rhythm of labor. Sewing machines screeched and whirred in mechanical harmony, their sharp metallic clatter drowning out the shallow breathing of the girls seated in rigid rows. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed above, bathing everything in a sickly yellow glow.
The air was stale and suffocating, a thick stew of chemical dyes, scorched thread, and human sweat. Every breath felt like swallowing ash. Cloth scraps littered the concrete floor like fallen feathers—useless, forgotten.
Girls worked in silence, backs hunched, faces pale, fingers bandaged or bleeding. A single mistake earned a slap, a shout, or worse. Their movements were precise, robotic—conditioned by fear, not training.
In the far corner, a supervisor barked orders in a voice like gravel, pacing like a guard dog. And overhead, a rusted fan churned slowly, moving the air just enough to spread the stench of misery from one end of the room to the other.
I was shoved in the seat.
"Get to work," the guard barked, pressing the cold metal of a gun against my temple.
I glared at him — not out of courage, but out of spite. There was no use in arguing. My resistance wouldn't save me. Slowly, I grabbed the thread and fed it through the needle of the sewing machine.
As the machine began its steady, mindless hum, my eyes drifted around the room.
Most of the girls here were my age—some even younger. But their eyes were hollow, far older than their years. Some wore the marks of motherhood, others the bruises of obedience. A few had both. I didn't need to ask to know they had been forced into marriage, or worse, possession.
A lump formed in my throat. Helplessness clung to me like the dust in this factory. I hated that I couldn't save them. That I couldn't even save myself.
Suddenly, I heard the wailing of a child from outside the window. He was either hungry or hurt — calling for his mother. But he wouldn't get her. Not now. Maybe not ever.
I didn't know what it felt like to be a mother. But I had seen what it meant.
One of the girls stood up, her hands trembling as she approached the guard. Her voice cracked when she spoke.
"Please... Please let me see him," she begged. "Just for a moment."
The guard didn't flinch. He didn't move — only raised his gun, pointing it at the door behind her.
She dropped to her knees, desperation choking her words.
"Sir, he hasn't eaten since last night," she pleaded. "He's still breastfeeding… please—please let me feed him."
Her voice was broken, half-whimpers and half-panting, as the sound of her baby's screams bled through the iron door behind us — raw, endless, and ignored.
I closed my eyes, maybe by doing this I won't be able to hide and wouldn't have to see it any further.
She was shoved back into her chair like she was nothing.
The guard raised the barrel of his gun and struck her across the head.
Her body jerked, but she didn't cry out.
Blood began trickling down the side of her face, mixing with the silent tears that stained her cheeks. She blinked, again and again, as if trying to clear her vision, but I knew she wasn't just blinded by the wound. It was the sound. Her child's cries from behind the locked door—raw, desperate—shattered whatever strength she had left.
The wound, I knew, wasn't the worst pain she felt.
No. The real torture was hearing her baby scream for her, knowing she couldn't go to him. That he would cry himself into exhaustion, into silence, and she could do nothing.
She closed her eyes, her shoulders trembling.
And still, the machines kept humming.
I stood frozen, the needle in my hand idle as my eyes remained locked on the girl.
No one else moved. No one else dared. The machines kept humming, their metallic rhythm masking the cries of that child—except to those of us who still had hearts that hadn't completely rotted in this place.
I wanted to scream. To tear that gun out of the guard's hand and bash his skull in with it. Just like I did once before.
But I didn't move. I couldn't.
Because here, rage was punished. Kindness was punished. And love… love was the most dangerous thing of all.
I looked back down at my sewing machine, blinking the blur from my vision. My hands trembled, not from fear—but fury. Helpless, caged fury that burned behind my ribs like a second heartbeat.
This place wasn't just killing us. It was training us to feel nothing. To watch hunger. To ignore screams. To keep sewing while a mother begged for her baby.
I clenched my teeth. No more.
One day… one day, I'll tear this whole island down. Brick by brick. Gun by gun.
They'll remember every scream they forced us to ignore.