Crows are a sign of impending death.

That’s all I can think about as I look out over the gardens from my balcony. The morning is thick with fog and it shrouds the castle, cutting me off from the rest of the world. It sinks into the trees and lingers between the violets and roses like a ghost from long ago. There, in the center of the dizzying purples and reds, sits a crow perched on the bird bath. It’s pretty, in a terrifying kind of way.

Someone is going to die today. The realization sinks into my bones and I drum the band of my ring against the cold railing. Someone will die today, but it won’t be me.

Stepping out of my chambers and into the bustling halls of the palace, I’m temporarily over come with the scent of roses. They sit in little vases lining the windows and they do their best to mask the rot that has sunken into the floors, the walls, the ceilings — it doesn’t help, though.

“Hey, Vetta!” I hear a voice call from behind me. Turning, I see them rushing my way. Fuck.

I turn on my heel and push through the hall, heading straight for the safe room.

Still choking on the scent of roses, I sit up in my bed, cold sweat clinging to my skin. My eyes instinctively flick to the balcony, half expecting to see a crow perching there, watching me with its soulless eyes. The only eyes that stare back at me, though, are my own. My own image flickers back at me, the candle on my bed side table casting me in an eerie light through the windows. My dark hair clings to the sweat on my chest, and my night gown is twisted from tossing and turning.

Satisfied that it was just a nightmare, I settle down once again, but I won’t be getting any sleep, not tonight.