Sometimes, people realize they're dreaming.
For Astrid Rosefall, it always happened at the same moment—right before the worst part.
She was standing in the Bottom of the Labyrinth, an ancient ruin lost to time, where the walls wept shadows and the air trembled with sorrow. The silence was thick, pressing on her ears like cotton soaked in regret.
Her father lay before her.
The light dimmed, as if the world itself refused to witness what was about to unfold. Her hands trembled, yet they moved as if controlled by something beyond her—a force both foreign and familiar. A silver blade gleamed in her grip, trembling slightly, reflecting a distorted image of her tearless eyes.
She tried to speak, to cry out, but no sound escaped her lips.
Slowly but surely.
She plunged the blade forward, her body shaking with each heartbeat. It pierced flesh.
Slowly but surely.
