The musty airfills my lungs with every inhale. I lift my hand to my face, turning it over to inspect it. My skin feels different. I can’t put a finger on why.
I slowly lower it back to my side and lift my gaze to the ceiling. There’s a crack in the foyer that I don’t remember being there. Or maybe it’s been there this whole time I’ve been haunting the manor and never noticed.
I shiver from the cold and look down. I’m wearing the same clothes as when I died.
When did I take my jacket off? It’s always so fucking cold in here.
Somewhere at the back of my head, alarm bells are going off. Wasn’t I just in…? Is this a dream?
Another violent shudder works down my spine, and my teeth begin to chatter. Wrapping my arms around myself, I keep walking then hesitate in front of the door, debating whether I have the energy to be civilized and use the handle.
This is Hell. This must be the new form of torture Satan had in mind for me. But… it doesn’t feel like a memory. I don’t feel like smoke or weightless.
I try the handle, and it gives way on the first try. My forehead pinches. I can feel the weight of the door as it opens. Odd. This version of Hell is different.
I stop at the edge of the porch. In the middle of the field is Lynx, staring up at the raging sky, painted in blotches of gray and white. The wind whips at his clothes as he stands there, still, eyes creased in confusion.
Pebbles crunch underfoot as I dare to move closer to him, scared for whatever the Devil has in store for me. I fist my hands at my sides, willing myself not to cry before it even begins.
“Lynx,” I choke.
His attention snaps toward me, and his guard goes up. “Sable,” he says cautiously.
My heart drops, and I shift back. This is when the hurt starts.
“I—” I carefully look back at the manor and the fields beyond that I can never pass. Is this my torture? To be stuck in this manor with a man who hates my existence.
I take another step back and, for the first time, notice the change—everywhere.
This is wrong. I—Ifeel. Everything is vivid. The world isn’t so muted. The bite of wind hits my skin, rather than going through me. I can feel the uneven ground beneath my feet and see my hair dancing to the will of the storm.
“Am I still there?” I’m not a passenger in my own mind. Every movement seems to be my own.
Lynx’s nostrils flare with an inhale, and, hesitantly, he shakes his head, eyeing me carefully. “It doesn’t… smell like it.”
I jolt when something hits my cheek. It happens again—the tip of my nose this time. I touch the cool liquid and smear rainwater along my skin as more droplets begin to batter down and soak my hair.
Like I’m real.
My gaze drops to the ground where I stand, following the foot-shaped imprints in the grass. I’m leaving a trace. I’m making sounds and taking up space.
Iexist.
A laugh starts to bubble up my throat because I’m not a ghost. It’s swiftly cut off by a dawning realization.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
A panicked expression crosses Lynx’s face. It shifts to confusion just as quickly. “I’m meant to be a demon right now—in Hell.” He glances around as if double-checking we aren’t surrounded by fire.
I shake my head. “No, I gave the Devil my soul for yours. Y-you’re free.”Free to spend the rest of your life hating me.
“What?” He takes a step toward me. His face gives nothing away. “You did that for me?”
There’s too much to unpack in the way his eyes start swirling, so I open my mouth and let it all come out. “Please, Lynx. I swear to you. You have to know that I had nothing to do with that dagger or cursing you, and I?—”
“I know.”
That stops me for only a second. “And I understand why you paid for your freedom with my soul because of what you thought I?—”
