Esme was ensconced in darkness, swathed in shadows so thick it was like being smothered in velvet. She couldn’t see; she could only hear soft, poisonous whispers, whispers that curled around her like smoke from a funeral pyre.
You should never have come here.
‘Let me go!’ Esme pleaded.
You’ll never see your mother again.
The voice’s poison spread through Esme’s veins, tainting her with doubt. ‘I will,’ she mumbled. ‘I’ll wake her up—’
It’s too late. It’s too late …
She squeezed her eyes shut. The darkness behind her own eyelids was preferable to that of this prison.
‘Esme?’ a petrified voice cried. ‘Esme!’
‘Lillian!’ Esme shouted back.
‘Th-th-there’s a voice,’ Lillian stammered. ‘It’s telling me—that I should never sing again. That my songspells will only cause chaos and destructi
