It was two days before Anaisa left her room again. The hurt and betrayal she felt was a thorn in her heart. She was a coward, and hiding. She could admit that much to herself, even if she let others just think the poison was difficult to recover from. It was. The doctor continued giving her his concoctions.
Anaisa tossed and turned in the night, constantly waking and falling back into her nightmares. They were terrible. Was it the medication? Was it the poison? She didn't know, but she missed the pleasant dreams she'd had for so long.
The dreams, she reluctantly admitted, that Trace had been manipulating.
She shouldn't want them. She should be glad his interference stopped. Or had it? Maybe he was the one orchestrating these foul visions. To make her grateful for him. She should hate him for all of it.
