After twenty years in prison, no one was waiting for Elvira at the exit. No flowers, no hugs, not even a familiar glance amidst the city’s hurried crowds. The fresh air felt alien, almost violent, as if the world had continued turning without her, erasing any trace of her existence.
Elvira wandered aimlessly, carrying only a small cloth bag. She had learned to expect nothing, to survive with the bare minimum. But that freedom, so longed for over the years, now felt like an immense emptiness.
Night fell quickly. Without enough money or anywhere to go, she ended up leaving the city, guided by an ancient instinct, as if something were calling to her from afar. The road grew narrower and narrower, surrounded by withered trees and forgotten hills.
