Aveloria woke up later than usual that morning. Her body felt heavy, her mind fogged. The dream had come again, flashes of her death, the sound of her own breathing cut short, the scent of smoke and blood.
She sat up, heart pounding, eyes darting to the familiar walls of her chamber. It took her a moment to realize she was still safe and alive in her second chance.
Her writing desk sat by the window, covered in scattered notes. She pushed herself out of bed, pulled her robe tight, and went straight to it.
One by one, she began to write everything she remembered before, not just the events, but the details that haunted her.
Rowena was there that night. She was with her when the Wanderers came. She pretended to scream, but she didn't run. It was starting to click; she had indeed planned it all.
