Trigger warning - Grief. (Please read with caution, this chapter contains a very sensitive subject.)
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There was a lady in a white flowing robe, with long silver hair, and a dagger dripping with blood etched into her stomach with her hand over it.
She extended her other hand to Belladonna and whispered something in a language that she seemed to understand despite not having ever heard it before.
Belladonna's hand held the lady’s outstretched own, something surged through her at their contact and she woke up.
She was drenched with sweat, her heart was racing wildly and her breathing was fast and ragged.
It was dark and the room she was in was lit with a lantern. There were people in the room too, standing at either side of her.
“You are awake,” Zesika, the one she recognized in this room, said. “How are you feeling?”
Belladonna parted her lips to speak but slowly she frowned, as she remembered everything. Tears welled up in her eyes.
