The Serpent I Carried Chapter 2

While Julian was still stunned, I scrambled away from him. I didn't even bother with my shoes, just ran to the full-length mirror against the wall.

The mirror reflected a face that was both familiar and utterly alien. A small, delicate face. Skin like porcelain, eyes misty and soft, a look of fragile vulnerability.

This was the face of Catherine.

The woman who, in my previous life, had existed only as a tragic, sainted memory for my husband and son. Their "white moonlight," the one that got away.

I stared at her. She stared back at me.

A wave of profound, hysterical absurdity washed over me. I couldn't stop the low chuckle that escaped my lips. It grew louder, wilder, until I was laughing so hard that tears streamed down my cheeks.

Oh, God. You really do have a twisted sense of humor.

I was reborn.

And I was reborn as the origin of my own tragedy. The beloved ghost at the heart of it all.

Perfect. This was just perfect.