Michael Riverwoods
When I swept my gaze around, I saw the familiar towering posts and the intricate domed ceiling of the Westworth manor.
The soft, silvery light of the full moon filtered through the huge glass windows.
It was then that I knew I was dreaming.
My mind panicked, but my body couldn't do anything about it. It was as though I was a puppet tied to strings. I couldn't move unless the puppeteer decides to make me move.
However, my eyes were free from the restraints. I scanned the surroundings. The lights inside the building were turned off, despite the glow coming from the windows, parts of the manor were shrouded in darkness. It was difficult to see what was in the distance.
"My River," a silky voice called out from behind.
Someone yanked the strings. All of a sudden,
