vy bolt sliding into place with a sound of finality. It was cold, the kind of damp chill t

s al

bucket of water. That was it. For three days

underneath the terror, something else s

een her

d spent centuries trying to bury. The cold stone fl

rest, older, darker. A different altar, made of ancient, moss-covered stone.

a wealthy woman who enjoyed art, travel, and the company of a man I thought I knew. I was not

y were triggered by the scent of the damp

onant, full of a possessive love t

ll see how fleeting they are.

le

esilience that was now my only hope. He had done it out of spite, out of a broken heart, so I would watch e

accumulating wealth, moving from city to city, building new lives

cheap imitation of my past, bet

me want to laugh, but all that