A faint scraping on the wall stirred Rose from her sleep. She groaned, rolling onto her side, burying her face deeper into the pillow. Who in Aethion's name was making that noise?
There was no sunlight in Hell—obviously—so she had no clue if it was morning, night, or the middle of an eternal torment session. She grumbled under her breath, trying to gather her thoughts.
Then she heard the scraping again.
Rose shot up, blinking groggily, and then it clicked. Cyra.
She hadn't seen her baby dragon in what felt like forever!
Excitement overrode her sleepiness as she flung the sheets off and jumped out of bed—only for a sharp, skull-cracking headache to slam into her.
"By the pits—" she hissed, clutching her head. What in the seven hells did she do last night?
She staggered slightly, but before she could reach the bookshelf, something in the mirror caught her eye.
Her reflection.