- SERAPHINE
The morning air was crisp, the kind of cold that bites at my lungs, but I barely felt it. I was a passenger in my own body, drifting through the hallways of the mansion like a ghost.
Aiden held my arm with that fake, "concerned" grip of his, guiding me toward the sleek black sedan idling in the driveway.
"It’s going to be okay, Marielle," he whispered, pressing a kiss to my temple. I felt a surge of nausea. He still used her name—my best friend's name—like a brand, a constant reminder that the woman I used to be was dead and buried. "The fresh air in the mountains will do you wonders. No more confusion and bad dreams."
Marielle stood by the car door, dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. "We’ll visit every weekend, sweetie. I’ve already packed your favorite tea."
