The room was cloaked in shadows, the faint moonlight casting a silvery glow on the walls as Scarlett drifted into a restless sleep. Her dreams came in fragments—images of her family, fleeting glimpses of James’s piercing gaze, and the weight of unseen eyes watching her. Then, as if pulled by an invisible force, her subconscious shifted, and the dreams faded into darkness.
When Scarlett opened her eyes, she wasn’t in her room anymore. She stood in a vast, otherworldly space where the ground shimmered like polished obsidian and the air hummed with an ethereal energy. In the center of this void was the white chair she remembered so vividly, and seated upon it was the woman—the one who had greeted her after her death.
The mysterious woman was as striking as before, her presence commanding an
