Savannah
The worst part about drowning in moon milk isn't the drowning—it's the dreaming. Six days of floating in liquid starlight, my consciousness scattered like glitter in a snowglobe, each shimmering particle holding a fragment of me that couldn't quite remember it belonged to a whole.
I'd been dreaming of silver forests and shadow wolves when the first ripple disturbed my perfect nowhere. A tug, gentle but insistent, like someone pulling a thread that happened to be stitched through my soul.
It's time, shadow-sister. The realms need you.
The voice wasn't exactly speech—more like moonlight wrapped in velvet and draped across my thoughts.
Six days is quite enough beauty rest, even for someone who literally ate enough corruption to poison half the supernatural world.
This voice I
