THE CURSED ONE
The moon hung low outside the tall arched windows, it’s pale glow spilling like liquid silver across the polished floor. The air was still, save for the faint whisper or rain against the glass.
Laura sat at the edge of the bed she now shared with Damian, the silken folds of her nightdress pooling around her like soft moonlight. Her hair, free from its braid, fell in waves down her back, gleaming faintly each time the firelight flickered.
An open book lay across her lap. The Flora of the Northern Valleys. But her eyes had long since drifted from the neat inked words. Her thoughts were miles away, circling back again and again to the maid who had called herself Desa.
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