Diana's POVI’ve always believed that you can tell the soul of a house by its scent.Demonmaw Manor smelled of ancient lineages, peat-heavy scotch, and the faint, metallic tang of tarnished silver. It was a cold scent—one that held no warmth even in the height of summer, as if the stones themselves exhaled a glacial breath.My corner of the manor, however, smelled of the dark earth. In the iron-ribbed conservatory, I was surrounded by the sharp bite of crushed wolfsbane, the soothing musk of dried lavender, and the bitter, life-giving aroma of silver-root. The glass overhead was thick and bubbled, distorting the moon into a pale, fractured eye that watched me toil amongst the thorns.I sat at my scarred wooden workbench, my fingers stained a bruised, sickly green. I was mid-grind, the rhythmic thump-scrape of my stone mortar and pestle serving as the heartbeat of my small, green world. To the rest of the pack, I was a ghost. To my uncle, Alpha Alaric, I was a cost-saving measure—a nie
最終更新日 : 2026-03-04
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