er

Wing was a wor

t was quiet and secluded, surrounded by old pine trees that whisp

rs ago and managed by the stern, watchful housekeeper Clara Finch, moved like ghosts. They w

The room was masculine, decorated in shades of charcoal and deep blue. It smelled of cedar and

y, a heavy, dreamles

save for the soft glow of a single lamp I'd left on by the bedside. A de

caught in

ony doors. It was tall, broad, and moved with a silence that w

dn't scream. I didn't move. I feigned sleep, my eyelids fluttering slightly,

a giant carved from night. He stood there for a long moment, simply looking down at m

. Was this an assassin? Someone sent by Mer

f his face, as if a veil had been placed over it

ts are in

g like it was about to explode from my chest. I smelled a

the blanket. I felt a strange stinging sensation o

lance, only catching a glimpse of his back, not his face. He picked up the wine from the remai

's apple bobbing, and drank it down in a long,

soft, dull thud of silver hitting wood

movement. A soft sound escaped my lips, a

as a predator, poised to strike, whether to fight or flee. I forced my breathing to b

ere, a vaguely visible presence behind me. I awaited the cold touch of

lightly. He pulled up the heavy qu

gentle, that it sent chills down my spine,

focus on the sounds in the room. I heard nothing. No fading footsteps, no clic

hours had passed, my body

don't drink. Ghosts don't

unknown

ream through the window, I dared not sit up. M

glass i

t's e

s clotted.