But the phantasms fled, their flashing fangs and dripping claws evaporating into mist. “Only a nightmare.” How many times had she whispered the same thing in the past weeks? Perhaps she would better believe it if the monsters didn’t take Papa with them every time they disappeared. She rubbed a hand over her face and then froze. The walls around her neither dipped nor swayed. The mattress felt feather stuffed, and no salt tinged the air. Obviously she was no longer aboard a ship, but in the shadows of the room, she could not place where she was. Scrambling to her feet, she headed to the strip of golden light glowing between the heavy drapes. Perspiration dripped from her forehead and made her dress cling, and the air felt heavy and wet. Where was she? Some outer ring of Dante’s inferno? A tug upon the curtains brought sunlight flooding in, saturated in shades of pink and violet. Sunset—of what day? And over what land? The street brought a tickle of memory and the crawl of heat up her neck.
What do You think about Whispers From The Shadows?
