Thirty-four:
Crimson Ashland
The door opened.
I was not sure how long I had been trapped in the room since Conan had brought me here. I had searched the room, touching everything, trying to find something that would connect me to Raoul. I closed my eyes, trying to picture him. Dark hair, grey eyes. “Raoul,” I whispered, “please be okay. Please tell me that you are okay.”
There was nothing.
Nothing but the wind whistling from the snowstorm that was coming from the small window in the room. I looked out it. I hoped that maybe Raoul would appear, in the village, having come back from wherever it was that he went.
But I had been in there for hours when I heard the unlocking of the door. “Crimson,” someone whispered. It was
