Crimson Moon Academy
Perhaps twenty-five, wearing clothes I didn't recognize, with silver eyes that held ancient knowledge and terrible power.
"Welcome," Scarrow said, his scarred lips pulling into what might have been a smile. "I thought it was time we had an honest conversation."
"Nice illusions," I forced myself to say, though my voice shook. "But my grandmother is dead."
"Is she?" He gestured to the figure, who stepped forward.
"Hello, little moon," she said, and my knees nearly buckled. That was her voice, her pet name for me, the exact way she'd tuck my hair behind my ear.
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