The wind carried the soft scent of pine and something sweeter. Perhaps the lilacs growing by the east garden. It drifted in through the open balcony doors, brushing lightly against the embroidered curtains as Selene set her book down.
Her thoughts were half lost between the pages and the ache pressing quietly at the back of her mind.
The days had passed slower than she remembered them. Each morning since the day Damian left her in the Ashford manor, and she returned back to her father's estate, she had tried to piece together what was real and what wasn't.
The voices, the faces, and the warmth she used to believe in, it all blurred around the edges. Sometimes she felt like a guest in her own life. Anne keeps on making her feel like a silent observer trapped in a dream she'd already lived once.
