Chapter 57
That night, after tears and warm embraces, Blaise brings a mandolin out of the closet and insists I sing for them one last time.
We gather around the fireplace, my mother on one side, my father on the other, and I sing into the night.
It’s a farewell that makes my throat ache, but I welcome the pain. Welcome the catharsis.
Eventually, the night grows dark, and my niece displaces my father on the couch and tucks her head onto my shoulder. She falls asleep like that, until Nox eventually scoops her into his arms and carries her upstairs to her room.
The greatest surprise comes when, at the end of the night, my mother doesn’t fight me.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her as I pull on my cloak.
She holds my cheeks in her hands, tears brimming in her eyes. “For what, dear?”
“You already lost me once. And now I’m leaving you all over again.”
My mother’s smile is pained, but soft. Brave.
“When I lost you the first time, you were a child, and I didn’t know where I had lost you to.
Oh, the horrors I imagined were happening to you.
I believed you dead. And now—dear, I never thought I would see your eyes open again.
I’ve even heard you sing. I have suffered too much in losing you to let you suffer the same.
All of those nights I worried for you, well, now I can go to sleep and know you are safe, and you are happy, and you are loved.
Please just do me a favor, and tell my granddaughters that I love them. ”
When I climb up onto the dais, my entire family joins hands, gathering around me.
Wendy, her shadows still swirling around her, places a fingertip on my throat. I clench, and she whispers a quiet apology. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I whisper, then decide that if these are the last words I’m to speak aloud, I’m rather proud of them.
This time, when a Sister takes my voice, it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t fill me with panic.
And this time, when she weaves me into a tapestry, I remember.