IRENE
REAL WORLD — PRESENT
Twenty-four months.
Seven hundred and thirty days.
That was how long it had been since the world stopped spinning, even though everyone else insisted it kept turning.
I sat on the edge of my bed in the North Pack guest quarters, staring at the wall. The silence was deafening. It was supposed to be peaceful. That was the lie I told myself when I walked away from the witch two years ago. She had given me the choice: enter the loop, enter his hell, and fight for him, or walk away and live.
I chose to live. I chose sanity. I told myself that the sick hating game with Devon was a cancer I needed to cut out. I told myself I would be happy without the blood, the obsession, the constant war of our existence. I thought the decision I made was the best for me.
Keyword: thought.
