The chill in the air had nothing to do with Lanark's summer, and the eerie silence around her was unnatural, far from the soothing sounds of forest creatures and rustling leaves next to her home—an unsettling stillness.
Adela was just emerging from a harrowing nightmare, slowly regaining awareness of her physical self. Haunting images of her beloved home set aflame and Aldric's manic, hostile stare drove her swiftly into consciousness.
She woke up with a gasp. Her eyes darted around the unfamiliar surroundings, taking in a stark, nearly empty room with a peculiar water-filled bed. A triangular window on the far wall offered no comforting coverings.
"What kind of night is this?" Adela wondered, her voice thick with restless sleep, her throat burning.
