She’s wearing a white nightgown like in the nightmare, her dark hair splaying all over the pillow and her skin is pasty white. The woolen sheet covers her to the breasts and her hands are crossed on her stomach as if she’s in a casket. Lia Volkov. The real Lia Volkov. I thought she was dead. How could she be…? Why is she…? My thoughts tumble over each other with no clear direction as a sickening feeling settles over my stomach, demanding I throw up my breakfast. Her eyes snap open, their blue clashing with mine. I stumble backward as my mouth opens in a shriek.
😱😱😱😱😱
