Seraphine did not wake the way humans wake.
There was no breath pulling into her lungs. No sudden gasp. No racing heart.
There was only silence.
Endless, heavy silence.
She lay on cold silver ground that felt like stone and mist at the same time. Above her, the sky was not a sky. It shimmered like liquid glass. There was no sun. No moon. Just a soft glow that came from everywhere.
She slowly pushed herself up.
Her body felt lighter.
Different.
She looked down at her hands. They were still her hands but faint light moved under her skin, like moonlight trapped in water.
“I’m not dead,” she whispered.
Her voice echoed strangely, as if the world itself was listening.
Memories rushed back.
The ritual circle.
Lucien screaming her name.
The moon going dark.
Pain tearing through her
