Waking up dead was nothing like Scarlett imagined. She could see her own corpse lying in the cemetery, blood-soaked and broken, while her translucent hands passed through everything she tried to touch.

The first sensation was cold. Not the cold of winter. The cold of absolute absence. Like every molecule of warmth had been stripped from existence.

Then came awareness.

Scarlett opened eyes she didn't know she had and found herself standing. Looking down at herself.

Her body lay crumpled between two graves, face down in the dirt. Blood had pooled around her head. One arm was bent at an unnatural angle. Her legs were twisted wrong.

She looked dead.

Because she was dead.

"No." The word came out as a whisper. "This isn't real."

She reached down to touch her own shoulder. Her hand passed straight through, like she was made of smoke.

Panic exploded in her chest. She tried again. And again. Each time her translucent fingers slipped through solid matter.

"Help!" She screamed it. "Someone help me!"

But the cemetery was empty. Just rows of tombstones and her corpse and the horrible silence.

The blood around her body had dried. Gone dark and crusty. Hours then. Maybe longer.

The realization crashed down like that gravestone had.

She was dead. Actually, truly dead.

But if she was dead, why was she still here?

---

Scarlett's thoughts were fractured. Incomplete. Like trying to remember a dream after waking.

She remembered Marco dying. Could see his face so clearly. Could hear his weak voice saying that name.

Alessio.

The man with dark hair. The expensive suit. The cold voice that said she belonged to him now.

But when she tried to remember what happened after, everything went fuzzy. There had been someone at the funeral. Someone who'd hurt her. But the face wouldn't come into focus.

The head injury. That must be why. The trauma had damaged her memories.

She pressed translucent hands to her temples, trying to force the memories to clear. But it was like pushing through mud.

Annabelle. She remembered Annabelle dying too.

There had been blood. So much blood. And fangs. Someone draining her dry in that storage room.

But who? The face was gone. Erased by death.

All she knew for certain was that everyone she loved was dead.

Marco. Annabelle. Her mother.

And Alessio De Luca was responsible for at least one of those deaths. Maybe all of them.

The man who'd touched her so gently. Who'd whispered that she was safe.

He'd killed her brother.

The betrayal hurt worse than anything.

"You lied to me," she whispered to the empty air. "You made me trust you and then you killed him."

The rage that filled her was almost solid.

---

Days passed. Scarlett couldn't leave the cemetery.

She tried. Walked to the gates over and over, but something invisible stopped her. Some barrier she couldn't see or understand.

She was trapped here. Bound to Marco's grave.

She spent hours sitting beside the fresh earth, trying to talk to him. But he never answered. If his spirit existed, it had moved on.

Only Scarlett remained. Stuck. Angry. Broken.

Other people visited the cemetery during the day. Families bringing flowers. Children running between the graves.

Scarlett tried to interact with them. Tried to scream or wave or make herself known.

No one saw her. No one heard her.

She tried to move objects. Knock over a vase. Shift a flower.

Nothing worked. Her hands passed through everything.

The frustration built until she wanted to scream. Did scream. But the sound died in the air, unheard.

At night, other spirits emerged. Faint shapes. Translucent figures that drifted between graves.

One old woman approached on the second night.

"You should let go, child," she said. "The anger will destroy what's left of you."

"I can't let go. Not until I make him pay."

"Revenge won't bring you peace."

"I don't want peace. I want him to suffer."

The old woman shook her head and drifted away. After that, the other spirits avoided her. She could feel their fear.

Too much rage. Too much hate. She's becoming something dangerous.

Good. Let them be afraid.

---

Every night, Scarlett returned to Marco's grave.

It became a ritual. She'd kneel in the dirt and curse Alessio's name until her voice went raw.

"I'll find a way back," she swore. "I don't know how, but I will. And when I do, I'll make you suffer."

She described it in detail. The torture she'd inflict. How she'd make him beg. How she'd take everything from him.

The rage was the only thing that felt real anymore. The only thing that kept her tethered to this world.

"You're going to pay for what you did to Marco. I'll burn your empire to the ground. I'll destroy everyone you love."

The words became a mantra. A prayer to dark gods she didn't believe in.

But they heard her anyway.

Other spirits whispered about her. About the girl who wouldn't let go. Who was twisting into something unnatural.

She's holding on too tight. The hate is consuming her.

But no one tried to help. They were too afraid.

Scarlett didn't care. Let them fear her.

She had one purpose now. Revenge.

---

On the seventh night of her death, Scarlett knelt at Marco's grave as usual.

The rage had dulled to a constant ache. Still there. Still consuming. But familiar now.

"I'm sorry, Marco." Tears she couldn't feel ran down her translucent cheeks. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you."

She pressed her hand against the earth. Felt nothing.

"But I'll make it right. I swear. Alessio will pay for what he did to you."

The air suddenly grew heavy.

Scarlett looked up. The temperature had dropped. Even colder than the usual death-cold.

Something was here. Something powerful.

A woman materialized ten feet away. Not a ghost. Solid. Real. Alive.

She was beautiful in an unsettling way. Pale skin. Dark hair that moved in a wind Scarlett couldn't feel. Eyes that glowed faintly in the darkness.

"Such rage." The woman's voice was silk and poison. "Such beautiful, perfect rage."

Scarlett stood slowly. "Who are you?"

"Someone who appreciates a good vendetta." The woman circled Scarlett's translucent form. "Seven days you've been dead. Seven days of cursing his name. Most spirits fade by now. But not you."

"How can you see me?"

"I see many things others cannot." The woman stopped circling. Met Scarlett's eyes. "Tell me, child. What would you give for another chance at life?"

Hope flared in Scarlett's chest. Painful and desperate.

"What?"

"You heard me. Life. A body. Blood in your veins and air in your lungs." The woman smiled. "The ability to make good on all those threats you've been making."

"That's not possible."

"For most, no. But you're not most people. High priestess blood runs in your veins. Even dead, I can smell it." The woman leaned closer. "I can bring you back. Give you everything you've lost."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because we want the same thing." The woman's eyes gleamed. "What would you give for revenge against Alessio De Luca?"

At the sound of his name, something ignited in Scarlett's dead heart.

"Anything," she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of seven days of torment. "I'd give anything."

---