A lullaby.
Sofia’s heart jolted violently, pounding hard against her ribs.
It was that song.
The very lullaby she used to sing to little Luna every night before bed. The same melody her grandmother— the only musician in the family—had created long ago.
No one else knew it.
Her legs began moving before she could think, driven by fear and a sudden surge of desperate hope. She hurried up the grand marble staircase, her breathing nearly drowned out by the frantic pounding of her heart.
The melody floated down the hallway of the bedrooms.
From Isabella’s room.
She approached slowly, each step heavy with tension. Isabella’s bedroom door was slightly open, leaving a narrow crack where the soft glow of a bedside lamp spilled into the corridor.
Now the voice was clear.
Unmistakable.
A little girl’s voice… singing.
“Sleep, my little moon, my shooting star, may sleep take you to a world of peace…”
Every word was exact. Every note perfectly familiar.
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