Greta's eyes fluttered open, and the soft glow of morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains hanging over the bedroom window. The air was thick with the smoky scent of burnt-out candles, and something about the room felt off. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was, until the memories from last night slammed into her like a brick wall. Her hand shot up to her lips.
Those red eyes. Still burned into her mind. And that glowing pentagram, crimson and pulsing, had lit up the room like some unholy fire, leaving behind a faint shimmer that still haunted the edges of her vision. Her lips stung, the bite mark from the Duke still fresh. It hadn't been a dream. She'd been fully awake. Fully aware.
