The kiss ended. The physical heat of Nyx pulled away from his lips. Vane felt the familiar phantom itch flare violently behind his ears. It was followed by the sensation of a cold, wet hook dragging across the surface of his brain.
The world fractured.
For three seconds, Vane was not lying on the thick rug of the living room in Villa 1. He was a small, pale girl sitting in a cramped, rotting wooden shack. The air smelled of cheap coal and stale cabbage. The world outside the dirty window was grey and utterly devoid of color. The sheer, crushing boredom of the environment felt like a physical weight pressing down on her small chest. It was intolerable. She reached deep inside her own mind, pulling a vibrant violet canvas from her imagination. She forced the drab walls of the shack to dissolve into a field of glowing flowers simply because she refused to accept the dreary reality she was born into.
Vane gasped. His eyes snapped open.
