The glow of divine silver shimmered softly as Artemis emerged in Megan's old room, her bare feet touching the creaking wooden floor with a soundless grace. A familiar space — one she used to appear in night after night. But now…
Her brows drew together.
The room was cold, still, untouched. Dust floated lazily in the filtered light coming through the thin curtains. The once-vibrant quilt Megan's mother hand-stitched now lay folded at the foot of the bed, untouched. Shelves that once held half-finished books, dried flowers, and the occasional trinket Megan couldn't part with were now sparse, many items missing or boxed away. A faint smell of old lavender lingered — but stale, like a memory long past.
Artemis walked further in, hand brushing over the edge of the bedside table, coated with a light film of dust.
"Impossible…" she whispered. "This place hasn't been used in... in months?"
