Anna's nightmares always began the same way—and they were always about the same thing.
She had been twelve at the time. Her father was away on yet another business trip, and the Hydes had graciously offered to let her stay with them so she wouldn't be alone in her family's empty house.
That night, Anna had trouble falling asleep. She tossed and turned beneath the heavy blankets, staring up at the ceiling until the shadows began to play tricks on her eyes.
Finally, giving up on rest, she slipped out of bed and decided to pass the time with something warm to drink and a bit of secret entertainment.
She crept into the kitchen, lit only by the dim glow of a single lamp, and made herself a cup of honey tea. Clutched in her hand was a romance novel she'd quietly borrowed—more like stolen—from Mrs. Hyde's private library when the woman wasn't looking.
