![]() I knock into my vanity table and fumble in a drawer. The Dead must be near…but no, I don’t feel their cold, nor any growing strength… My mind races as I feel my way around the room. I throw back the covers and slide out of bed. It may as well be midnight.Ī horrible jolt darts into my chest. The room should have brightened by now, but no pale light slips through the draperies. ![]() They always lull me to sleep at mistrise, but now… I wait for the sounds of Venice waking, the distant voices, the clang of the Campanile bell or perhaps the distant soaring of an aethership. I close my eyes, adjust my pillow and draw my comforter to my chin, my still-healing arm aching. I must…it must have been a nightmare, though I can’t have slept for long… I unclench my fist and let the medallion fall beneath my collar. Faint smells twine through the darkness, of fading embers, leather books, silver polish. ![]() The sweat-soaked collar of my nightdress digs into my throat and my medallion burns cold in my fist. The pitch-blackness seems to tremble, vibrating with the echo of a scream. ![]()
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