The world around Celene was dark, colder than she had ever felt. Time was a blur, moments slipping past in an endless cascade of silence and pain. When they had killed her—when Alariel had driven that dagger into her chest—Celene was certain her life had ended. The sharp agony of the blade had burned like fire, spreading through her body, robbing her of breath, of strength. She remembered falling, her vision dimming until the stone floor rose up to meet her. Then, darkness.
But now… now, she was awake.
Her consciousness stirred, a sluggish awareness creeping through her like a distant echo. The pain was still there, dull and persistent, radiating from the wound that had felled her. She couldn't tell how long it had been since she had collapsed in that alcove, but it felt like an eternity. Every second had stretched out, her body unmoving, her mind trapped in a haze of pain and confusion.
