Chapter 7
The Skeptic's Doubt
I question my own sanity, fearing this is fantasy. But a strange synchronicity—a found photograph—pushes me deeper into the veils.
Chapter 7: The Skeptic's Doubt
I woke with a start, the smell of smoke still clinging to my nostrils, though the room was cold and still. The dream had been so vivid—fire licking at ancient stone walls, voices chanting in a language I could almost understand, and at the center of it all, a woman with eyes like dark water. Marie Leveau. She had looked at me not as a stranger, but as someone she had been waiting for.
I sat up in bed, my heart pounding against my ribs like a caged thing. The clock on the nightstand read 3:47 AM. The hour of the wolf, they called it. The time when the veil between worlds was thinnest, when doubt crept in with the darkness.
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