Beatriz
has too much to occupy her thoughts to spare many for Nicolo, or so she tells herself. She has the power to bring stars down from the sky, and one somehow reappeared! She still hasn’t heard from Nigellus! She is preparing to attempt regicide and matricide! She has to find a way to rescue her husband’s paramour from the dungeon! Nicolo shouldn’t warrant a space in her thoughts, but instead, he’s begun to sneak into her mind so often she begins to doubt he ever left it.
Whether he intended it or not, his short letter wedged its way beneath her skin, and the only thing that annoys her more than that single line is the fact that she is still thinking about it.
As she watches the sunset out her bedroom window and the stars flicker awake in the ink-dark sky, a shiver runs down her spine. There it is—that feeling that she felt twice before in Cellaria but didn’t understand. Now she knows it’s the stars, calling to her to use her magic. Summons or not, she needs to speak to Nigellus.
is even more aware of her surroundings than usual as she makes her way to Nigellus’s laboratory near midnight. After Ambrose’s arrest, she’s been particularly uneasy, wondering how much her mother knows about him, or his connection to her and Pasquale. She takes a longer route, making use of several hidden passageways she, Sophronia, and Daphne discovered as children. She rounds corners, then stops short, listening for any sound or shadow, but none appear. No one is following her, she realizes, and somehow, that knowledge makes her even more anxious.
When she finally pushes open the door to Nigellus’s laboratory, she’s confronted with a mess. Where before, the worktables and desk were kept clear of everything but the equipment and whatever text he had out at that moment, now the equipment has been shoved to the side and every inch of space is covered with open books—more than can count. As she steps into the room, she realizes they’re even spread out on the floor, all open to different pages.
She catches sight of an illustration in one and recognizes it as the same image he showed her before, of what the sky looked like eons ago. She steps over the books, careful not to muss them, and looks around for any sign of Nigellus himself.
finds him beneath the worktable, fast asleep. When she nudges his leg with the toe of her boot, he jerks awake, sitting upright so fast he bangs his head on the underside of the table.
“Ow,” he mutters, bringing a hand to his head while he blinks, eyes adjusting to the low light until he sees . He frowns.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, scrambling to stand. “I didn’t send for you.”
“It’s been two days without word and I was beginning to worry,” tells him, glancing around the room again. “Have you been here this whole time?” she asks.
“No,” he says before pausing. “Yes, maybe,” he adds, frowning. “I’ve found no mention, in eons of texts, of an empyrea who can put stars back into the sky.”
“Is…that what I did?” asks. The star she pulled down from the Queen’s Chalice reappeared, but then so did the star Nigellus pulled down to create Sophronia, and she didn’t have anything to do with that. “You might have made a mistake about the star I pulled down in Cellaria. What with Sophie’s star reappearing, perhaps something larger is happening with the stars.”
“Sophronia’s star reappeared because she died,” Nigellus says. “No other stars I’ve pulled down have come back. But you…it isn’t only the Queen’s Chalice that’s altered, it’s the Stinging Bee and the Wandering Wheel. Both constellations have reappeared in the last two days, neither missing the star you took.”
stares at him, processing his words. “You think I did that?” she asks. “Surely I would know.”
“You didn’t know you were pulling stars down in the first place,” he reminds her. “It’s hardly surprising you would be just as ignorant about putting them back.”
The word ignorant digs at , though she has to admit she is ignorant about star magic, at least compared to Nigellus.
“If I can put the stars back in the sky after wishing on them, isn’t that good news?” she asks. “You showed me how few stars are left in the sky—if I can bring them back…”
“I’ve been studying the stars all my life, Princess. If there is one thing they’ve taught me, it’s that magic always has a cost. Just because we don’t know what that cost is yet doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. So no, I’m not inclined to celebrate this revelation yet, and you shouldn’t be either.”
“Well, perhaps if I do it again, we could get more information,” she offers. “I feel the stars calling me to.”
At that, Nigellus frowns. “Calling you to what?”
shrugs. “You know how it is, I’m sure…it feels like the stars are dancing on my skin, pulling at me. It only ever goes away when I make a wish.”
Nigellus stares at her blankly for a moment before shaking his head. “You didn’t mention that before.”
“I didn’t think it was relevant,” she says. “And it took me ages to put it together—as I told you, the two times I wished on stars in Cellaria, I didn’t realize what I was doing, but before each of those incidents, I felt that same pull. I thought it was insomnia at first.”
“And…you feel that now?” he asks, frown deepening.
nods. “You’ve never experienced it?” she asks. When Nigellus shakes his head, she bites her lip. “I assumed it was a normal thing, or at least normal for empyreas.”
“Well, whatever pull you feel, you’ll have to resist it. Using your power when we understand so little of it is dangerous.”
laughs. “If what you’re saying is true, I can make wishes without killing stars,” she says. “Why are you so determined to find doom and gloom in everything? Surely this is a miracle.”
“Perhaps,” he allows. “But there simply isn’t enough information to know what it is yet. And that’s another thing—did you, in fact, bring the star back? Or did you birth a new star to take its place?”
hadn’t considered that, but surely she couldn’t birth a star by accident. “Does it matter?” she asks. “The star is there, in the same place it was before.”
“Of course it matters!” Nigellus snaps, and takes a step back from him.
She isn’t afraid of Nigellus, not really, but she’s known the man her entire life and he’s always been a calm and aloof presence. Seeing him so unraveled is disconcerting. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and tilting his face toward the stars shining down through the open roof.
“I need more time, Princess ,” he says finally. “I’ve written to other empyreas to see if they know any more than I do, but it will take time to find answers. Until then, you need to exercise patience and caution—two things I know don’t come easily to you, but if you’re going to survive as an empyrea, you’ll need to learn both.”
—
With her lesson cut short and the stars making her even more restless than usual, makes her way down to the dungeon, using a vial of stardust she swiped on her way out of Nigellus’s laboratory to render herself invisible. Weak as stardust is, it only lasts a few minutes, but that’s time enough for her to make it down the halls and stairways until she reaches the deserted dungeon.
Gisella’s cell is separate from the others, secluded in a separate wing of the dungeon reserved for foreign dignitaries, but rather than going there first, makes her way down the main cellblock, half full of common prisoners who glance at her as she passes but don’t speak.
She finds Ambrose in the last cell, dressed in soiled rags, with a dirt-smudged face, but other than that no worse for wear. She lets out a breath, stopping in front of the bars and leaning against them. When he looks up and sees her, he jumps to his feet.
“Triz,” he says softly, as aware as she is of the prisoners in nearby cells who might be eavesdropping.
“Ambrose,” she replies. “Are you all right? Have you been hurt?”
“I’m fine,” he assures her. “I’d just left your letter at the Crimson Petal—they promised they’d send it out with their mail.”
“The Crimson Petal?” she asks, frowning. “The brothel?”
At the word, Ambrose’s cheeks stain red, evident even in the dim lighting. “I’ve been checking in on Violie’s mother as often as I can,” he explains. “How is Pasquale?” he asks.
“Worried, but he’s putting on a brave face,” she says. “I thought about bringing him, but I’m not sure he could handle it.”
“No,” Ambrose says, grimacing. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”
“I’ll need a few days,” tells him. “But I will get you out of here, I swear it.”
She considers going against Nigellus’s call for caution and patience and making her way to the nearest window to wish Ambrose free, but she knows that would only make matters worse for all of them. If her mother found out Ambrose is working with her, and more than that, that is an empyrea, it would tangle them all in a far more dangerous web. And then there’s the matter of where, exactly, Ambrose would be safe. She tells herself that the dungeon is the safest place for him right now.
“I know you will,” Ambrose says, and the confidence in his voice twists at ’s heart.
“I don’t think my mother knows about the connection between you and Pasquale—though I can’t be sure,” she tells him. “But she does believe you’re in league with Violie. I’d imagine she’ll have you questioned.”
Fear flickers in Ambrose’s eyes. “Tortured?” he asks.
hesitates. “I don’t know,” she admits. “But if it comes to that, place all of the blame on me, all right?”
Ambrose frowns. “Triz…”
“All of it,” she says. “It’s what my mother will want to hear, so she’ll be quick to believe it. I won’t lie, you and Pas might still end up caught in the crossfire, but at least I’ll take the brunt of the blame. As I should,” she adds quickly when he opens his mouth to argue. “This was my idea, you followed me here.”
“By choice, not force,” Ambrose says, not so different from what Pasquale said, but still doesn’t fully believe it.
“Promise me,” she says. “If you need to blame someone, blame me.” She pauses. “And if that happens, I will find a way to keep us all safe.” Even if Nigellus does think her reckless for using her magic, she knows she wouldn’t hesitate to protect herself, Pasquale, and Ambrose if she needs to.
“If I need to,” he says carefully. “But I won’t. I’m stronger than you seem to think.”
gives him a reassuring smile. She knows he believes that, but he also hasn’t yet met her mother.
—
When makes it to the other side of the dungeon, where Gisella’s isolated cell is located, she’s mildly annoyed to find Gisella peacefully asleep, curled up on the narrow cot with her back to and a threadbare blanket pulled up over herreedy frame.
clears her throat, but Gisella doesn’t stir.
“Gisella,” she says, as loud as she dares. The nearest guards are at the entrance to the dungeon, a good fifty feet down the winding hallways, but she isn’t keen on taking chances.
Gisella doesn’t move for a few seconds, but before can try again, she rolls over toward her, fixing with a hooded stare, half asleep and fully annoyed.
“Do you know how difficult it is to fall asleep in this place?” she asks, sitting up slowly. “I’d finally managed to get comfortable on this bed of stones.”
has never spent time in the dungeon, but she doesn’t think Gisella is exaggerating. The mattress looks hard even from a distance, and a winter chill has worked its way past the stone walls, with no fire to drive it off. A twinge of pity nags at , but she pushes it aside. She’d still prefer this dungeon to the Sororia.
Reaching into the pocket of her cloak, she draws out Nicolo’s letter and passes it through the bars. “A letter from Nico,” she says when Gisella eyes it warily.
That wakes Gisella up, and she launches herself out of bed and across the cell, grabbing the letter and unfolding it. watches, feeling smug as Gisella’s eyes scan the letter, hope giving way to fury when she reads the single sentence.
“Is this a joke?” she demands.
shrugs. “If it is, the humor is lost on me,” she says. “Though I’m sure he has his hands full trying to keep his throne.”
“The throne I secured for him,” Gisella seethes. “He would still be holding a wine goblet for a mad king if it weren’t for me.”
“Perhaps he might prefer that,” points out, remembering the last time she saw Nicolo, drunk and miserable and freshly crowned.
If she weren’t still half asleep, Gisella might be able to mask the expression that flits over her face—the slight roll of her eyes, the tired sigh.
“Did he tell you that?” asks, tilting her head. Pieces begin to fall into place. “Let me guess,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “You argued after Pas and I were sent to the mountains, he said the same sorts of things. He was furious with you. Sending you to Bessemia as a messenger wasn’t an honor for you, it was a punishment.”
Gisella’s jaw clenches, as if she’s trying to keep the truth inside. “He needed space,” she says after a moment. “But I didn’t think…” She trails off, glancing away. “He’s an ungrateful bastard,” she snaps, crumpling the letter and throwing it toward . It lands on the floor, rolling past the bars and stopping at ’s feet.
“Unfortunately, that’s only half true, or he wouldn’t be king,” says.
Gisella laughs, the sound more bitter than mirthful. She sits back down on her cot and looks up at , her brow furrowed. “He isn’t wrong, though, is he?” she asks. “I can clean this mess up myself, especially since you gave me a broom.”
eyes her warily. Gisella is backed into a corner, beaten down, with no options, but still doesn’t trust her. She can’t. But she needs her, so she has to at least pretend.
“You’ll help me, then?” she asks.
Gisella nods slowly, her gaze far away. “I can’t very well brew a poison in here, can I?”
“You don’t need to,” says. “Tell me how to mix it and I’ll do it myself.”
Gisella makes a noise in the back of her throat. “And I’m supposed to take your word that you’ll get me out of here once I give you what you want?”
smirks. “Of the two of us, I have more reason not to trust you than you have not to trust me,” she says.
“I disagree,” Gisella says, raising an eyebrow. “You’re angry with me. You want revenge. At least you know exactly what I’m capable of, but I don’t think I can say the same of you.”
never thought Gisella a fool, and even now she has to admit she has a point.
“I’m not angry with you,” she tells her. “And I’ve gotten my revenge. Everything I told you would come to pass has—you’re out of power and your own twin wants nothing to do with you. My revenge is complete, and I didn’t even have to lift a finger to achieve it.” Gisella flinches but doesn’t deny it. After a few seconds, sighs. “Fine, then. What would you suggest, since neither of us can trust the other?”
Gisella purses her lips. “I’ll give you almost all of the recipe now, save one ingredient. Once you’ve upheld your end of our bargain, I’ll give you the other.”
shakes her head. “You’ll be halfway back to Cellaria before I discover your ‘poison’ is nothing but rat piss.” She pauses, deciding to hew close to the truth without giving Gisella any information that can be held against her later. “Ambrose was arrested yesterday,” she says.
Gisella’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ambrose is here?”
nods. “At the other end of the dungeon,” she says. “It’s a misunderstanding, but not one I’m able to clear up. My mother is planning on sending Pasquale and me back to Cellaria in a few days with an army at our backs in order to reclaim the throne from Nicolo. I’d like to administer this poison as we leave, getting Ambrose out as we go, and you along with him.”
“So you can take me back to Cellaria as a hostage?” Gisella asks.
has no intention of ever going back to Cellaria, but she isn’t about to tell Gisella her true plans. She shrugs. “Where you go when you’re out is up to you, though I’m not sure where else you would go but Cellaria.”
Gisella considers this for a moment. “If I give you the entire poison recipe before I’m sure you’ll follow through on your end, I bear the entirety of the risk,” she says.
“Am I supposed to care?” asks, laughing. “In case you haven’t realized, I hold all the power here. You’re in a cell, and there are other poison masters in Bessemia I can find.”
“And yet you’re here,” Gisella counters. “Bargaining with me.”
clenches her jaw but doesn’t deny it. She could find another poison master, but not without her mother finding out.
“You can trust me or not,” says after a moment. “Of the two of us, you have infinitely more to lose and gain.”
She turns away from Gisella and starts back down the hall. She makes it three steps before Gisella speaks.
“Wait,” she says, her voice heavy with defeat. “You have a deal.”
grins, turning back to face Gisella. “I thought you’d see it my way. The poison needs to be tactile, not oral. The target is too paranoid about poisons in their food or drink. And it needs to look like an accident.”
Gisella nods, brow furrowed. “I have an idea, but I’ll need time to think it through.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” tells her before turning again and leaving Gisella alone in the dark.
—
Whatever pull you feel, you’ll have to resist it, Nigellus told , but as she lies in her bed after returning from the dungeon, watching the hands of the tall grandfather clock in the corner move from one in the morning to two, realizes that is easier said than done. It isn’t just an itch that grows stronger the more she thinks about it until it consumes her, it’s as if her entire body is covered in those itches. It’s as if she herself is nothing but itches.
No matter how she tosses and turns, she can’t sleep, and by the time the clock strikes three, she’s given up trying. She throws off the covers and climbs out of bed, crossing to a large window and pushing open the glass to let the night air wash over her. She closes her eyes, feeling the stars on her skin, a divine sort of torture.
What if she did make a wish? Nigellus told her not to, but he himself admitted he doesn’t know anything about her power or what she is capable of. But the stars know, don’t they? They urged Nigellus to create her, to make her an empyrea. And now they are urging her to use her magic. Surely it would be wrong to disobey them. Wouldn’t it?
Her mind all but made up, she opens her eyes and searches the skies, watching as constellations roll into and out of view.
The Dancing Bear for frivolity.
The Dazzling Sun for enlightenment.
The Glittering Diamond for strength.
Her eyes catch on one constellation as it creeps in from the south—from Cellaria, she realizes: the Stinging Bee. When she looks carefully, she can see the star she wished on weeks ago just before Nicolo kissed her in a dark corridor. Even thinking about it kindles her anger, not just toward Nicolo but toward herself for being foolish enough to trust him.
Though here, with no one but the stars to judge her, she can admit that it isn’t only anger she feels but heartbreak. Oh, she never imagined herself in love with Nicolo, but she did care for him, not just as a friend or an accomplice in her schemes, and it didn’t only anger her when he betrayed her—it hurt her. Even admitting that to herself is mortifying. The empress raised and her sisters to be too strong to be hurt, to be invulnerable—to everyone but her, at least. The fact that Nicolo managed to hurt , even if only emotionally, feels like a failure.
At least before, when she remembered how heartbroken Nicolo was, it felt like they were even, in a way. He hurt her, she hurt him. But now, she is still here, with Nicolo never far from her thoughts, and according to his letter, he doesn’t seem to be thinking about her at all.
That hurts. But as the Stinging Bee arcs overhead, an idea occurs to .
Her eyes seek out a star at the tip of the bee’s stinger and she focuses on it.
“I wish I could see and speak to King Nicolo,” she says, the words coming out quiet but firm.
She blinks and when her eyes open again, she is no longer in her room. Instead, she finds herself back in the Cellarian palace, walking through a dark hall lit by dying sconces. But no, she realizes—the air in Cellaria was warmer, so humid it felt heavy on your skin. doesn’t feel that, and when she takes a deep breath, she can still smell the roses from her mother’s garden. She can still feel the cool stone window ledge against her palms.
Physically, at least, she is still in Bessemia. But part of her isn’t. Part of her is in Cellaria, in the palace she never imagined she would see again.
“It’s late, Your Majesty. Perhaps you should rest,” a voice says, drawing to an open door at the end of the hall—one she recognizes belatedly as the throne room. When she steps through, she notes that the room is nearly empty, with only one man standing before the great golden throne and Nicolo perched atop it, slumped down, crown askew over his pale blond hair, and a goblet in hand. Though she can’t see the contents, the glazed look in Nicolo’s eyes makes her suspect it’s wine, or something stronger.
doesn’t know what the rules of her wish are here, but when Nicolo’s eyes snap to her, she at least knows he can see her.
“,” he says, his voice coming out hoarse.
Bewildered, the other man turns toward her and she recognizes him as Lord Halvario, who was a member of King Cesare’s council. His eyes glide right past her and smiles, realizing Nicolo is the only one who can see her.
“Er…Your Majesty?” Lord Halvario asks, looking perplexed as he turns back to Nicolo.
“He can’t see me,” says, not even trying to keep the glee from her voice as she steps farther into the room, crossing to stand just in front of Lord Halvario. She leans in close, but he doesn’t so much as flinch. glances back at Nicolo, who continues to look at her like he is seeing a ghost.
“That’ll be all, Hal,” Nicolo says. “Close the door behind you.”
With a hasty bow and a bemused last look at Nicolo, Lord Halvario does as instructed. When the door closes firmly behind him, clicks her tongue.
“Oh, Nico, by breakfast they’ll be saying you’re mad, and you know what Cellaria does to mad kings,” she says.
“How are you here?” Nicolo asks, rising to his feet and coming toward her, but holds her ground. Even if she were physically in Cellaria, she doesn’t think Nicolo would actually harm her.
“Magic,” she tells him, enjoying how unnerved he is. “Tell me, does that make you a heretic too? Though I suppose the magic is using you, rather than you using the magic.”
He sinks back onto his throne and takes another gulp from his goblet. “Or perhaps I truly am going mad,” he mutters.
Rather than reassure him, shrugs. “It is in your bloodline, I suppose,” she muses. “Though at least you know Gisella isn’t poisoning your wine.”
For a moment he only looks at her, before he finally speaks. “How is she?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
So he does believe is real, she thinks. “As I said in my letter, she’s more comfortable than I was in the Sororia.”
Nicolo frowns, his forehead creasing so deeply that is reminded of how he looked when she used cosmetics to disguise him as an older man when they rescued Lord Savelle.
“Your letter?” he asks. “The only letter I received was from your mother.”
A laugh forces its way past her lips before her brain can catch up. Even when it does, though, she can’t bring herself to be surprised. Her mother is trying to manipulate her—manipulate them both—and has been fool enough to let her succeed.
“What did my mother say, exactly?” she asks him.
Nicolo doesn’t answer, though. He leans back in his throne, dark brown eyes on , suddenly appraising.
“What did your letter say?” he asks.
’s mind works quickly—she’s underestimated Nicolo before, and that isn’t a mistake she’ll make again. Even without Gisella at his side, he’s dangerous. But if ever did see the truth about Nicolo, it was the side she saw when he was crouched outside her bedroom window, drunk and desperate. She can use that, but she has to be careful. For all that she knows how to read Nicolo, he has always had a knack for reading her, too.
She stays as close to the truth as possible.
“I offered to write you, to tell you about Gisella, though of course I knew that my mother would read the letter before I sent it, along with plenty of others before it reached your hands, I’m sure. I didn’t say everything I wished to. I had to keep it simple—that Gisella was in Bessemia, she arrived mere days after Pas and me—he’s safe too, in case you were wondering.”
“I was,” Nicolo says. “He’s my cousin—and my friend. He was, at least.”
forces herself to tamp down her anger, even though she’d like nothing more than to tell him exactly what his friendship did to Pasquale, the shape he was in when he got free of the Fraternia.
“He’s safe,” she says instead. “Though I daresay he no longer considers you friend or family. I mentioned that in my letter as well.”
“Was that all?” Nicolo asks, like he knows the answer, and is struck anew by how well he understands her.
“There might have been a barb or two,” she says.
“Come now, ,” he says with a slow smile. “I’m sure you remember exactly what they were. Tell me.”
Very well, thinks, if he really wishes to know —it was satisfying enough to write them, but she will find far more pleasure by saying them to his face. “I simply reminded you of the last time we spoke; I told you I’d carry the memory of you as I last saw you, drunk, desperate, and disappointed, to bring me joy in my darkest hours, but seeing Gisella dragged away in chains might have supplanted it.”
Nicolo considers this for a moment, taking another sip of his wine. “And?” he asks after a moment. “Has it?”
allows her smug smile to falter just slightly, an illusion of vulnerability that Nicolo is no doubt searching for. “I have a large imagination, I can assure you—it’s plenty big enough to hold the memories of both of you miserable.”
He laughs. “I’d wager, , that I’m in your thoughts just as often as you’re in mine.”
allows those words to warm her only long enough for Nicolo to see it on her face, but not a second longer.
“Now it’s your turn, Nico,” she says. “What did my mother say to you?”
Nicolo takes a long sip of wine, and for a moment, wonders if he’ll answer her at all. After what feels like ages, he speaks again.
“She wished for me to know that Bessemia’s loyalty was to you and your husband,” he says, shrugging. “And that Gisella would be treated as a hostage until you were once more seated on Cellaria’s throne.”
remembers playing Confessions and Bluffs with Nicolo, Gisella, Pasquale, and Ambrose, how she knew when Nicolo was lying, just as he knew when she was lying. At the time, feeling so evenly matched only made her more infatuated, but now it makes her wary.
She knows that every word Nicolo has just spoken is true, as surely as she knows it isn’t the entire truth. She also suspects he knows the same about what she’s said.
“And what you replied to my mother?” she asks. “I must say, Gisella was quite put out by the message she believed came from you.”
“What message was that?” he asks.
“You—or rather someone—said she was capable of cleaning up her own mess,” says.
Nicolo laughs. “True as that may be, it was only half my message.”
“And the other half?” presses.
Nicolo doesn’t answer. Instead he rises to his feet, setting his wine goblet down on the arm of his throne and stepping down off the dais. He stops just in front of her, so close that if they were truly in the same room, she would surely feel his breath against her cheek. So close she could reach out to curl her fingers through his pale blond hair—or wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze.
“If I just told you…,” he says, his voice low in her ear. Goose bumps rise on her arms and she hopes he doesn’t notice them, doesn’t see how much he affects her still. “…what fun would that be?”
opens her mouth to respond, but in the space of a single blink, she finds herself back in her bedroom in the Bessemian palace, her head spinning and hands clutching the windowsill in a white-knuckled grip. There, piled on the stone sill between her hands, is roughly a tablespoon of stardust.
She stumbles away from the window, dizzy, and steadies herself against the side of her desk, gripping the wooden edge with both hands. Bile rises in her throat and she forces herself to take deep breaths to calm her riotous stomach.
It will pass, she knows it will pass, and then she’ll sleep for an eternity. This is how magic affects the body, but in the moment she feels like she’s dying. She knows she should gather the stardust, find a vial for it and save it for another day, another wish, but she doesn’t have the strength to do that. Which leaves her with two options—leave the stardust there to be discovered in the morning, alerting the servants and therefore her mother to what she is, or get rid of it. It isn’t much of a choice at all. stumbles back toward the windowsill and brushes the stardust away with her hand, watching the glittering dust fall into the darkness below.
That done, she takes a step toward her bed, then another, her legs shaky beneath her, but eventually she makes it there and crawls beneath the covers, sleep already pulling at her mind. Just before it drags her under completely, there’s a tickle in her throat and she sits up, coughing violently into the sleeve of her white nightgown. When she looks down, she blinks, as if she might still be hallucinating, but she isn’t.
The sleeve of her nightgown is now speckled in blood. Her head spins once more and then everything goes dark.