My vision was blurred. Was it a dream? or maybe the place was too foggy or my eyes were playing with me. I was not sure.
I didn’t feel any coldness on my skin. I thought I wasn’t supposed to feel anything at all, because I thought I was dead already from that kind of terrible convulsion of fever. But I noticed everything turn into a slow motion as I walked towards the painting levitating above the floor.
It wasn’t a painting at all but rather a window.
My heart was pounding hard against my chest. I saw the familiar figure of a man—that golden, wavy hair and handsome face with beautiful cerulean eyes.
Edison! My eyes widened the second I saw the image of his red, enraged face, and the muscles of his body tensed. He was throwing and destroying things inside our bed chamber. His mouth op
