-La petite fille of the sea- anajay-
.
The hands fastening the buttons of her dress were so cold that Eva's back snapped straight in a jolt, a shiver racing down her spine. The chill wasn't like an ordinary draft—it was the kind of cold that bit into her skin, sharp and merciless, as though those fingers had been plunged into frozen water and left there far too long.
It wasn't winter. There was no reason for such ice in a touch.
Her breath hitched. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted her head, peering through the veil of her blonde hair at the mirror before her. What she saw unsettled her more than the chill.
The figure behind her was cloaked in shadow. Darkness seemed to cling to him, swallowing nearly all trace of his form, save for the faint shimmer of a vest embroidered with threads of gold. The details refused to come into focus, as though the glass itself recoiled from showing her more.
But there was one undeniable truth: the hands.
