I struggle to open my eyes. Where am I? Home? Did I faint? Oh, my aching head.
“Roosa. Wake up. Time is fleeing.”
That gets through. I mean, who says ‘time is fleeing’? Time is not alive. More important, am I alive? Am I still glowing?
“Roosa.” More urgently this time.
My eyes open. He’s still here, kneeling beside my bed, his bronze hand gently but firmly patting mine.
“You are awake. Good. We must prepare to leave at once.”
Whoa there. Is this guy crazy as well as good-looking? What’s he talking about?
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say as I sit up. Particularly with a ghost.
“But you must. You are my only hope.”
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