Isolde did not know how long she had been in bed. It could have been hours; it could have been days. Time had lost its meaning within the four walls of her room. The air was as cold and still as the emotions frozen inside her, a numb shell where a person used to be.
She was curled tightly under the thin blanket, knees drawn up to her chest, as if she could make herself small enough to disappear. But there was no escaping the memories. They came in relentless waves, crashing over her again and again, pulling her under a tide of guilt and horror. She was powerless to stop the replay inside her head. How could she? In a single night, she had been shattered by not one, but two unbelievable tragedies.
The first, and the one that haunted her most, was Selene's death.
