THREADS OF THE DAMNED

er that rode up her arm. Mrs. Holloway's hold on her arm relaxed not

owled, her eyes scanning towards the dress

ervously. "It's

rist. "That's what they all s

tals, murder scenes, rat tunnels where the air was thick with dust and death. But this was different. The Veil of Sorrow wa

I understand. The story is spooky. B

a smile. "Facts? Fine. Here's one: twelve brides have worn the dr

ned it to a blank page. "Twelve vic

better than that." She turned and disappeared

closed in

e stitching on the dress. The lace designs resembled curled vines, but the more she gazed,

riphery of the ro

his

lmost s

toward the noise, her pulse beat

rep

ing was get

n't move on the mannequin, but its veil-delicate and f

nd that made he

la

minine.

heart pounding in her ea

ack to the dress agai

no longer d

mannequin's face, as if someo

and the next moment, Mrs. Holloway emerged from ther