(Adelaide)
The next time she heard the footsteps, she was ready.
If you could ever be ready for anything in Hell. The air itself felt coiled, hot and waiting, like the breath before a lightning strike that never quite hit.
Adelaide sat on the edge of the bed, bare feet planted on the warm stone, fingers twisted in the makeshift dress she’d fashioned from one of the silk sheets. It wasn’t much—no seams, no proper ties—just a long length of dark fabric wrapped, twisted, and knotted over one shoulder, pinned in place with a bit of metal she’d pried off the bedframe.
But it was hers. Not his fur. Not his choice.
The fabric slid cool and heavy over her skin, whispering around her thighs when she shifted. Every time it clung, she reminded herself: You did this. You are not helpless. The sma
