Chapter-9

The next few days blurred into one another, like watercolour strokes blending on a canvas.

Amara found peace in the simplicity of her days, losing herself in the vibrant swirls of paint she spent hours on and the comforting presence of Martha. Her emotions remained stormy, but amidst the chaos, she was slowly discovering ways to piece herself back together.

Sometimes he’d wake up and find herself in an unfamiliar room, strange and lonely. Yet, as the days passed, she started relying more on her conscience than her fears.

And strangely, whenever Rhys was home, the nightmares were less frequent. She’d feel someone beside her bed every night, dreamily stroking her hair, running their gentle fingers on her delicate skin. But when she’d open her eyes, the bedside would be empty. There would be lingering coldness left on her skin. She’d wonder if she once again imagined things.

But the wrinkled sheets on the other side, how could she possibly imagine them?

Moreover, the chilling sensat