Six unedited sentences from the upcoming Part Twenty Eight of You Will Find Your Way
Her fingers itch for another bottle of wine, but that’s a road she’s already gone down—and why she doesn’t remember much about what she did until somewhere around 1880.
She pinches the bridge of her nose as the beginnings of a hangover pounds at the base of her skull, and she probably should go downstairs for some water, but that would mean getting up and—nah.
Her shoulder throbs where her body meets foreign bone, and Dallas shifts so she can dig her fingers into the spot until her hand spasms and some of the discomfort slowly recedes.
Minutes, or maybe hours pass, and Dallas tries and tries to fall asleep, but the old house creaks when it settles and even Giselle’s quiet muttering and typing as she works through the data they downloaded before the storm is nearly deafening.
Another beam pops, this one somewhere in the wall behind Dallas’ headboard, and she jolts, curses under her breath and buries her head in her hands.
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-Kathryn, the Fake Redhead