Rosamund
Rosamund.
My eyes flew open. My fingers were gripping the sheets so hard my knuckles ached, and the sweat on my skin had turned cold.
I scanned every corner of the lit room with my eyes before wobbling from the bed to check behind the curtains and under the bed.
Nothing. There was never anything.
It has been two days since the voice started, and it has not stopped.
Every time I closed my eyes, it came. It wasn't loud or harsh; it just spoke my name softly as if someone was standing behind me. It came in the pauses between my heartbeats, in the silence between Fanny's snoring in the outer room, and every time sleep began to pull me under.
Since it was nearly dawn, I decided it was no use trying to sleep.
