Everything here is black. Black walls, black floors, and black furniture. It looks as if I’m standing in one of my nightmares. But my new room is real, and it’s furnished with the belongings of a dead person. The ottomans were sat on and the vanities used mere days ago. Shoving my storm of emotions down, I lean forward and glance into the giant washroom—pointedly ignoring the hazy spirits floating near the rafters.

Like everything else, the washroom is black. The only thing that isn’t are the white glo stones set into the massive chandeliers above, which hang down in deadly, metal points.

My new maid, Preysee, follows me around the room with her sharp gaze. I’m old enough to know that look. It’s hatred. Hatred for my father, and, therefore, me. I continue through the room, trying to tamp my growing fear and anger. I hardly feel just one or the other, especially when it comes to my father. Across the room, one of the tall balcony doors is cracked open, allowing the winter chill in. I can’t help but wonder if the princess used it to escape when my father laid siege to this castle.

With the walls slowly closing in on me—and Preysee watching my every move—I wander toward the balcony. Perhaps my fear of heights will be better than a roomful of spirits whispering about the darkness inside my soul. With shaky hands, I set my book down on an ottoman and heave the balcony door open wider, just enough for my little frame to fit through. I freeze as soon as I meet the night sky, realizing how high this balcony is.

“Don’t black out,” I beg myself as that darkness in my soul begins crawling through me.