PROLOGUE
QUINN
The first gasp of breath after a century of sleep always sent knives carving through my lungs.
Despite this being my third awakening under the spell, the agony never dulled.
Dust billowed up around me in a pale, choking cloud.
I coughed until my throat burned, waving the haze aside.
The grit clung stubbornly to my skin, my hair, the folds of my threadbare gown—as though time itself refused to release me.
Every joint protested as I pushed upright, creaking and stiff, feeling more akin to armor than flesh. When I finally managed to stand, my legs wobbled like those of a fawn set too soon upon the ice.
The tower greeted me with its usual silence.
Stone walls slick with damp, air thick and musty with disuse.
Thunder rolled somewhere beyond the narrow window, its sound dragging through the bones of the structure.
I sighed. The walk to find the next tether was never pleasant; storms only served to worsen the experience.
With small, quavering steps, I crossed to the dresser, its surface coated in years of neglect.
A worn comb rested there beside a glass bottle that once held lavender.
Only brittle stems remained. I yanked the comb through my hair, each pull snapping through tangles as I winced.
When I caught my reflection in the darkened windowpane, I scarcely recognized the woman staring back.
The comb had made little progress on the snarled mass of my long, dark hair. Between my pale skin and light blue eyes, my reflection appeared more phantom than female.
The leather boots by the hearth had shriveled to husks in the decades since their abandonment. Upon lifting one, the sole cracked clean through. “Barefoot, then,” I murmured.
The wood groaned as I made my way down the spiral staircase, my hand trailing the banister to keep my balance. Dust parted beneath my fingertips, leaving a thin, uneven line through the gray.
At the base, I unlatched the great wooden door. Its hinges screamed like a dying animal before yielding. The forest was sodden and endless. Rain slicked the moss-dark path ahead, gleaming beneath the gathering dawn.
I had a fortnight to find another soul in need, to bind myself once more, and attempt to break the spell before sleep claimed me for another hundred years.
Stepping out into the rain, I lifted my chin to the sky.
The countdown had begun.