Wicked

Amber Olivier awakens in a cold sweat, the bitter taste of blood in her mouth and her head throbbing. Not even a hint of light reaches her. She reaches left, right, and above, but within inches, her hands meet a solid structure covered with satin.

She bangs on the top of the enclosure, but the cushioned fabric only creates a dull thud. Beyond panicked, she screams until her throat burns and she doesn’t have another breath of air in her.

And that’s when it hits her.

She’s in a coffin.

She screams again.