I woke up falling.
One moment there was white, then black, then the echo of a name—Vespera—still reverberating through whatever part of me existed between breath and heartbeat.
The next moment my chair tipped backward.
There was a sharp crack as wood smacked against the floor, a jolt that tore the air from my lungs, and I hit the ground hard enough that the world blurred around the edges.
For a second I lay there staring at the ceiling of my room, chest heaving, heart hammering like it was trying to escape my ribs.
Then the memories hit.
Not gently.
Not in fragments.
They came rushing back in a single, merciless wave.
The staircase.
The hall of black chandeliers and blue fire.
The crying statue collapsing into a woman of flesh and indifference.
The doorway dissolving.
The chained fragment the size of a star.
The weight of something that could erase civilizations pulsing quietly inside me.
Vespera.
Goddess of Life and Death.
