The Fortress at the Graveside

there alone, holding myself together because someone had to.

“Poor Demi.”

The voice slid into the moment like oil on water. Sweet. Slow. Calculated.

“You look so stiff. So… dry.”

I didn’t turn my head.

I didn’t need to.

The perfume arrived first, thick and floral, clinging to the damp air like something alive. Gardenia. Heavy. Suffocating. A scent designed continue reading …