Scarred Roses, Burning Vengeance
Damian's head snapped up, and there, in the corner, and shrouded in the shadows, sat Cassandra on a wooden chair.
She was dressed in another simple black dress, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, and her eyes, those icy blue eyes, glittered in the dim light. She held a small, silver tray with a cup and a plate with a croissant on it.
“You’re a good sleeper, Damian,” she continued, a faint smile on her lips. “We had to wait for you.”
“Who are we?”
A light flicked on, and there sat Helen-Nora and Ailean, both so thin and bald he did not immediately recognise them.
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