The wronged madwoman

Previously

…“This is just the beginning, Rosa,” the voice whispered, a triumphant lilt in its tone. “Your journey has just begun.” Rosa nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. The fear was still there, a faint tremor beneath the surface, but it was no longer the sole occupant of her being. A new emotion was taking root, small but persistent: hope. A hope that perhaps, just perhaps, she could become the person the voice believed her to be. The person who wouldn’t shatter. The person who could stand.