In the dead of night, the room was dimly lit with fresh air coming through the open window and rustling the curtains . Islinda lay in bed, the silence heavy around her as she drifted on the cusp of sleep. Suddenly, a chill prickled the air, and a sense of foreboding washed over her like a cold wave crashing against her skin.
Islinda felt it before she saw it—a looming presence, a shadow hovering over her like a dark specter. With a jolt, her eyes snapped open just as hands closed around her throat with a merciless grip, the sudden movement shattering the tranquility of the room.
Instinctively, Islinda gasped for air, her fingers clawing at the hands that threatened to suffocate her. But as the light fell upon the face, Islinda realized with a sickening dread that it was not Elena's twisted visage looming over her, but Aldric's. The hell.
