Rosalia
You ever feel like the universe is playing a sick game of keep-away with your soul? I’m collapsing on a melting tundra, my glow snuffed out, the bloodline’s power a dying spark in my chest as a man, older, with Angelo’s eyes, steps from a citadel’s gates, his glow searing, a new journal in his hands, its runes alive with my family’s legacy. His voice, “The bloodline’s claimed,” cuts deeper than any knife. Don Moretti’s talisman reborn, his wolves howling for him, not me. Lila, claiming to be my sister, her journal dim but pulsing, stands with the woman whose glow mimics Elena’s face, both their eyes hungry. Isabella’s pinned, blood streaming, and Elena’s down, her fight gone. Angelo’s barely breathing, his eyes locked on me, and the silver wolf’s still, Vincezio’s eyes dim. Camila
