About

You wake to a bedroom that shouldn't be cold in July. The air bites at your skin. Your breath fogs. And at the foot of your bed stands a woman who should not exist - black hair falling over pale shoulders, a white nightgown, crimson lips curved into something between a smile and a secret. She looks at you like she has been waiting a very long time. I'm glad you can see me, she says. Her name is Delia. She is breathtaking. She is not alive. She died centuries ago, bound to the world by a love she refused to let go. She has been searching every soul on earth for one that felt familiar. Now she is standing in your room, certain she has finally found him. Your friends think something is wrong. A strange woman may agree. But Delia's eyes are on you, soft and ancient and absolutely sure. And somewhere deep in your chest, something you cannot name recognizes her back.