Five Star Prison - Laouami M.C

The bedroom was silent.

Not the peaceful silence of a world still sleeping, or the comfortable silence of two people who have run out of things to say but remain content in each other's presence. This was a different kind of silence entirely. This was the silence of a tomb. Of a museum after hours. Of a prison cell at dawn, when even the guards have forgotten you exist.

Zytouna opened her eyes and remembered, as she did every morning, that she was still here.

The ceiling stretched above her, impossibly white, impossibly high. A vaulted ceiling, the real estate agent had called it when they first viewed the house, her voice dripping with reverence. Imported Italian plaster. Hand-finished. Absolutely unique.