Page 74 of Whisper of Nightmares

Euphemia cannot see a door, only the hole where one should be. Either removed from its hinges or cracked wide open. Either possibility fills her with a sense of wrongness.

But light glows from inside the bone palace, like the beckoning of an upturned hand.

She’s being welcomed.

Lured.

Under no circumstances, will Euphemia go inside. If a man shrouded in death and flame is frightened of it, then she certainly is as well. No matter how intrigued she might be. No matter the impulse to peek through the doorway and glimpse the mysteries inside. She will resist temptation this time.

Euphemia turns her back to Náströnd⁠—

And she comes face to face with the nightmare instead.

All sickly limbs and dying flames.

Her nostrils revolt at the charred stench.

But beholding the creature reminds her of something. When Euphemia had first arrived in this dream place, she had approached the nightmare, and only then had Ash appeared.

Perhaps it is a chain of events that will trigger him showing again?

Euphemia bites the plump flesh of her lip.

She’s not even sure why she’s so intent on seeing him again. She should just turn away and leave. Force him out of her thoughts the way she’s supposed to with every impure impulse she has.

And yet…

Cautiously, Euphemia steps toward the seemingly tranquil beast. Thunder cracks against her ribcage. Every instinct tells her to stop. Tells her to run like she should have the first night the nightmare appeared to her, all those months ago.

This is just a dream though.

The creature cannot hurt her.

But even that reassurance is no longer believable.

What of the mud on her feet when she awakens every night? What of the sodden bedsheets? What of the ashen handprints on her waist?

Inhaling sharply, Euphemia tells herself she only has to get close enough for Ash to appear. That’s all.

Euphemia cautions another step closer.

And another.

Each time she moves forward, she glances behind her to see if the skulled man has appeared, and each time she is disappointed to find that he has not.

Something is truly wrong with her to want such company. She should be grateful he’s gone. Perhaps this means her soul is becoming less damned? Perhaps her marriage is working?

A screech bursts from the nightmare like bats bursting from a cave.

Fire sears Euphemia’s hand—not real flames. Nothing touching her. But the memory of heat melting flesh. Flames destroying sinew.

The nightmare rears. Flames spread from its body like a plumage of fiery wings. Thankfully, Euphemia is far enough away not to be scorched. But she’s witnessed this moment before. Knows what’s to come next.

Euphemia staggers back.

Why had she gotten so close?

It’s going to kill her. Just like it killed her father.