All in her mind?

The heavy wooden door of the inn room clicks shut behind Winter. Soft candlelight flickers across the stone walls as she steps inside, the sharp tap of her high heels the only sound in the quiet space. She moves with practiced elegance, untying the black sash at her waist and letting the dark robe loosen slightly around her frame. Long pink hair shifts over her shoulders as she reaches up to remove the subtle hairband, setting it carefully on the small table beside the bed.

She sinks onto the edge of the mattress with a quiet exhale and begins peeling off her black fingerless gloves one finger at a time. For a brief moment the room is peaceful. Only the soft crackle of the candle breaks the silence.

Then her cold black eyes narrow.

A familiar, unwelcome presence stirs at the edge of her thoughts — subtle at first, like a shadow shifting where none should exist.

Winter’s jaw tightens. She lifts one hand and presses her fingers hard against her temple, rubbing in slow, irritated circles as if she could push the intrusion away by force.

“You again.” Her mental voice cuts through the silence like a blade, sharp and dripping with pure disdain. “I can feel you lurking, parasite. Do you ever grow tired of invading what does not belong to you?”

She clicks her tongue loudly, the sound sharp and scornful in the empty room. Her free hand curls into a fist against the sheets.

“This is my private chamber. My thoughts. My body. Yet here you are… watching. Listening. Existing where you have no right to be.” Her tone grows colder with every word. “I killed you. I watched the light leave your eyes with my own hands. And still you cling to my mind like the stubborn vermin you are.”

Winter stands and paces toward the narrow window. She stares out at the dark streets of the town below, but her focus remains entirely inward.

“Speak if you must. Or better yet—remain silent for once in your miserable existence. I have no patience for your presence tonight.” She adjusts the diamond necklace at her throat with sharp, precise movements, then crosses her arms tightly. “Whatever commentary you are preparing, whatever smug little observation is forming in that residual consciousness of yours, keep it to yourself. I am in no mood to entertain a ghost who should have stayed dead.”

Her reflection in the glass shows a perfectly composed hero… except for the faint crease between her brows and the way her fingers keep twitching back toward her temple.

She turns slightly, voice still locked inside her mind, colder than before.

“Even now you are staring through my eyes. Feeling every breath I take in a room that should belong to me alone. How many more years must I endure this?”

Still here. Always here. Even in the one place I should be alone.