Page 104 of Wolfsbane Hall
And then there was nothing.
An empty blackness, and she couldn’t have told anyone what happened next because she was dead. Truly and fully.
Her heart had failed her.
Sunday, November 12, 1939
Celestine’s Bedroom
Death felt much like living. It felt like her cotton sheets, comfortable bed, and goose feather pillows. But death also felt like magic humming through her blood.
Celestine jolted awake, sitting upright like a vampire in a coffin. She swallowed and patted her chest and then her legs. She was flesh. She was alive… Sort of.
Because a vampire wasn’t far off from what Celestine had become. A decaying scream crawled out of her throat. The hand she held before her eyes was slightly translucent.
She let out another scream, rolled her legs to the edge of the bed, and swung them onto the floor. A deep numbness settled over her body. And she no longer understood how to feel.
It was too much.
Betrayal.
Death.
Dying.
Resurrecting.
Immortality.
All too much, and she didn’t know what to do. She was so confused. She’d never imagined she would be immortal. It wasn’t even in the universe of possibilities for her.
So, how did one respond to it?
She didn’t know.
But she knew one thing. She meant it when she had said she never wanted to see the Ashbrooks again. They had done too much. They were monsters in human flesh.
But did they even have human flesh? She didn’t know.
So she packed. Celestine Sinclair wasn’t staying. She couldn’t look Dean in the face. After what he’d done, what they had all done, she couldn’t look any of them in the face. Before, she was far too afraid to make it on her own. Too scared to leave Wolfsbane Hall, too afraid to abandon her home and her Specter. Or be abandoned by him for leaving.
But she didn’t care anymore.
She’d been manipulated far too much and pushed too far.
Celestine was ready to die alone. Ready to leave the men in her rearview mirror.
Being immortal didn’t change that.
She’d choose herself.
No one else would.
But just as she was about to leave, Dean appeared in front of her, his ghostly form hardening into flesh.
Celestine sucked in a breath, something inside of her cracking. She didn’t want to see him. She just wanted to leave. She was formed from a glass sculpture and was splintering into a thousand small pieces.
He had shattered her.
