Lorelei

The nightmare clung to me like a second skin when I opened my eyes.

For a long moment, I didn't know where I was. The ceiling was wrong—too high, too pale, not the cracked plaster of Black Mist or the cold stone of the dungeon. My hands clutched the sheets, my body drenched in sweat, my heart still racing from the echo of screams I wasn't sure were mine.

Then the room came into focus. The curtains Penelope had chosen last week. The vase of fresh flowers on the windowsill. The ...