The rain on the Isle of Skye wasn't weather; it was a character in a gothic novel, and it was overacting. A relentless, misting drizzle that seeped into the stone of the old hunting lodge, making the very air taste of peat, salt, and regret. It pattered against the leaded windows—a soun...
Read MoreThe rain in Forks was a constant, a drumming rhythm against the roof of Bella’s small house. It was a sound that had once felt claustrophobic, but now, it was merely the backdrop to the symphony of her new existence. Since becoming a vampire, the world had sharpened into hyper-reality. Ever...
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