“The Cliffs of Sorrow,” I said.
The wind lifted a strand of her deep-red hair as clouds appeared above, casting a shadow that slithered across the meadow. “He’s calling to you,” she said, her head cocking to the side. “You should go to him.”
“What?” I didn’t hear anyone calling out to me.
“Listen. You’ll hear him.” She dipped and plucked another flower. “Just listen.”
“I don’t…” I trailed off, hearing something in the wind.
A name was being called.
Poppy.
The wind tumbled through the meadow, carrying more of his words with it. “Please open your eyes again and return to me.”
My breath stuttered. The raspy plea brought tears to my eyes.
“You hear him now,” she said, snapping my gaze back to her. The dark clouds had crested the Peaks.
“I do.”
“Good.” She held the basket closer, her shoulders going rigid. “You shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer. Go to him.”
A colder, biting wind blew across the meadow. The pretty, delicate wildflowers bent under its force, withering and turning gray. The shadows were only a handful of feet away, and the scent of stale lilacs filled the air.
“Return to him now,” she said, stepping back. “The other is almost here.”
“Who?”
“Death,” she whispered, or maybe it was the wind again. “Go.”
Tiny bumps broke out all over my skin. The flowers in her basket began to wilt, the petals graying and curling inward. “I—”
She spun, sending the long, red strands of her hair flying out. As they settled around her face and shoulders, I staggered back in shock.
Her face was heart-shaped, her jaw stubborn, and her lips full. A light smattering of freckles dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Green eyes met mine.
Hand shaking, I lifted my fingers to my left cheek. It was like looking in a mirror at what I could’ve been if not for the slightly rough skin I felt against my fingertips.
It was impossible.
“How?” I croaked. “How is this—?”
The wind changed abruptly. A low moan came, sending a chill down my spine. Another joined it, and then another until a deafening chorus of anguished cries erupted from the mountains and reverberated in the air. Terror—pure and raw—gathered in the back of my throat. The once lush, green grass at our feet shriveled and turned a sickly gray as if infected by the wailing misery around us.
Toward the foothills of the Peaks, shadows of crimson-streaked silver spun above the ground—
She was suddenly right in front of me. Fear clouded her all-too-familiar eyes, but something else moved behind the horror. Something just as potent.
Rage.
“Itistoo late,” she whispered, the words striking a chord deep within me. She stepped back as the churning mass darkened the sky above us. “Don’t let him touch you. Don’t let him in again.” Her lips continued to move, but I could no longer hear what she said. She…just drifted away, disappearing like trails of mist as a strange but familiar awareness pressed down on me.
Shadows raced across the sky. More tiny bumps broke out over my skin as I shivered, taking a step back. My gaze lifted to the sky. The strands of crimson and silver slowed, revealing a shape in the center of the seething mass of the foreboding clouds.
A deep coldness suddenly enveloped me as the shape took the form of a male. The sluggish beat of my heart thudded heavily in my chest and then picked up, warning me that the hulking form above me was a harbinger of nothing good.
Dark laughter rode an icy gust of wind, a chilling, malevolent sound that filled the air. The crimson bands brightened into ribbons of fresh blood, just like his eyes—
