Cruel Muse Chapter Thirteen
- Ro Salarian
- 11 minutes ago
- 7 min read
Val’s dreams had been fitful, a montage of Hell, demons and monsters chasing her through flames. No one would help her, and she was alone in her torment. She ran and ran, and came across a faucet. Feeling the slightest bit of hope, she turned its handle, hoping to douse the flames, but it was not water that flowed. It was sticky and dark red, oozing like oil. It was blood.
She thrashed herself awake, and laid in the bed, sheets damp with sweat, her body shivering. She desperately missed her old bed in her old room in her old house. She wanted something familiar to anchor her to the real world and chase away the nightmares. Ravenswood always felt surreal, like a dream.
When she stood up, the headache hit, the result of too much wine the night before. She clutched her forehand in one hand and the bedframe in the other to steady herself. She must be careful here. She had never had the opportunity to drink so much before. If such nights were to be a regular thing, she would have to learn to say no.
