Clara heard her feet dragging against the plush carpet. It was odd how the actual sensation was entirely absent from the equation.
She opened her eyes, and through the blurry field of vision Clara spotted tell-tale details. The plush carpeting, the art deco style, and four hundred series room numbers.
When she passed by room four-one-four, Clara knew exactly where she was. While it made sense considering Evelyn was a vampire, the thought of being an unlisted wing at The Grand, where she died, did not sit well with her.
“…southern wing…” Clara mumbled.
There came the squeeze of a soft hand. A part of her could not help it felt more like an absent friend than a partner.
“Shhhhh,” Evelyn said. “I have you, ma chère. Now close your eyes…”
The musical elements of that voice were soft, reminiscent of her mother singing a lullaby. Without even realising it, Clara compiled without protest.
Disclaimer: This novel is an work in progress and readers may encounter grammatical errors and inconsistencies. Please view this a draft and not a published work.
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