The world was a kaleidoscope of pain and shadow, punctuated by a gnawing hunger that was both familiar and terrifyingly new. Renie drifted, suspended in a void where time had no meaning, only the constant, searing ache in her stomach. Sometimes, a thick, sweet liquid would slide down her throat, offering fleeting relief, but the hunger always roared back, a predatory beast within her.

Then, a crack in the darkness. Her eyelids, heavy as lead, finally surrendered. Above her, a corniced ceiling slowly resolved itself, the bright pinpricks of light coalescing into a glittering crystal chandelier. Disorientation warred with a sudden, chilling clarity.

Belle Morte. The name echoed in her mind, a cold whisper of memory. She was still here, in the mansion, but not in her own room. This bed, a vast four-poster draped in black satin, felt unfamiliar. Indigo-blue walls surrounded her, far darker than the pale gold she remembered. A pair of swords winked on the wall, catching the light.

This was Edmond's room.

Slowly, she sat up. The hunger still coiled in her gut, but for the moment, it could be ignored. How long had she been here? Her voice, when it came, was a dry, rasping whisper. "What happened?"