Aurora’s P.O.V

I wake up with a gasp, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I try to gather my bearings. My hands clutch at the sheets beneath me, fingers curling into the fabric as my eyes dart around the room. No. Not again. Not this place.

My mother’s room—the room from my nightmares. The air is thick with the scent of lavender, just like it always is, and the dim glow of the night lamp illuminates the room, casting eerie shadows across the walls. I don’t want to be ...