I was at home, the chill in the air was tight. The fire has burned low, casting long, trembling shadows across the walls. Thaddeus materialized from the darkness like a forbidden dream, his presence a sinuous warmth against the chill of my illness. He perched at the edge of my bed, fingers hovered just above the hollow of my throat—they did not touch, but were close enough that I felt the phantom heat of him.You keep a crucifix under your pillow, he murmured to me, amused. Do you think it will save you? Or do you hope, just a little, that it won’t?The air smelled of laudanum and dying roses. He lifted one of my curls, letting it slip through his fingers like time itself. I could make you strong again. Let you taste the night instead of fearing it. His voice was velvet, coaxing. All you need do is say my name… not in prayer, but in surrender, Cicely.Outside, the church bell tolls. Somewhere between a warning and an invitation.Cicely... he said to me.