"My little angel," Marjorie's lips trembled before the words even came. Her voice was soft, ragged with time and grief, but unmistakably hers.
She stretched out her hand, slow and shaky, like she wasn't sure she'd be allowed to touch the world she'd left behind.
Merlina instantly shifted backward, grabbing onto the edge of the doorframe to steady herself. Her whole body had gone cold.
Her other hand flew to her chest, fingers curling instinctively over her heart as if trying to hold it in place. She could feel it thudding wildly beneath her ribs, like her body had registered something her mind couldn't yet believe.
This wasn't real.
This couldn't be real.
The woman who'd haunted her grief, who had vanished into dust, ash and eternal silence, was standing just feet away—alive.
"How…? You're…" Her voice cracked around the words. Her throat felt dry, her chest tightening like something inside was breaking open.
