SWINDON, MARCH 16th, 1872
I wake up in horror, my hands trembling as I pull the covers tighter around my body. I am covered in sweat, but at the same time, I have never been so cold before. I am trying to understand what I just experienced, but the more I think about it, the less sense it makes.
I couldn’t have possibly felt the wolf’s fur with my hands. It is impossible! Such things don’t happen in dreams! It must be my mind playing tricks on me. There must be some reasonable explanation behind this because I can’t believe myself right now.
I lie there, my eyes widened in horror as they stare into nothingness. The sun is already trying to peek through the shutters. I can see the faint light coming from behind the curtains, making it seem as if the fabric was glowing. I try
