“What is happening to me?” Aysen asked, still wincing occasionally.
“You have been turned, Milord,” Miranda said, finally giving into his inquiries.
Sora suddenly found herself inspecting Miranda. She was about Sora’s age. Pale hair, dark, brown hair and sparkling emerald eyes. Our heroine felt another pang of that wretched feeling, and nearly turned her sight away.
“Thank you,” Aysen said, his breathing slightly better.
“It is my pleasure,” Miranda replied, and gave a heart – melting smile.
She leaned forward, and…
Sora’s eyes snapped open, clutching the handles of the rocking chair so hard she thought her hands were going to splinter the wood.
Sora blinked, once, twice. It was her familiar world of black.
It had been a dream.
She felt something drip onto her nightgown, and raised a hand to her face.
Why am I crying?