The door swung inward, and the basement wasn’t a basement at all. It was a garden. Moonlit, impossibly deep, full of flowers that bloomed silver and black. And standing among them was a man—or something like a man—with eyes like amber and a smile that knew every lonely hour she had ever spent.
She was seventeen, pure in the way only someone sheltered could be—hair in a braid, cheeks dusted with faint freckles, a collection of pressed flowers hidden inside a dictionary. She believed in good manners and quiet evenings. She believed her uncle when he said the basement was unsafe. lisey sweet pure taboo
“What promise?”
Lisey flinched back. “Who’s there?” The door swung inward, and the basement wasn’t
Curiosity was a sin she hadn’t yet learned to confess. And standing among them was a man—or something
“Your uncle lies.” A pause. “Open the door, Lisey. Just a crack. I only want to see if you’ve kept your promise.”
“To stay pure. Untouched. No boy’s hands, no late-night secrets, no wicked little thoughts before sleep.”