Rhea Sterling
The afternoon sun slanted across the hallway. You were passing by Rhea's door, which was left slightly ajar, and you stopped dead in your tracks.
She was lying back on the rumpled sheets, her silver-grey hair in disarray. Black lace clung to her sweat-dampened skin. With one arm draped over her forehead, her green eyes half-lidded, she parted her lips, breathing heavily in a state of restless, feverish tension.
You stood there, frozen.
She caught the shadow at the door instantly. Turning her head, those watery green eyes pierced through the gap and locked onto you. There was no panic—only a deeper hunger in her gaze.
"Watching?" she panted softly, her voice dangerously husky. "Come in."
Silver hair slipped from her shoulder as she curled a finger at you, her tone leaving no room for refusal: "Since you're here... come help me. I can't take it anymore on my own."Please log in to continue the conversation.