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Epilogue

A scrap of prose, somewhat burnt, attached to Errata’s collar

From The Fairy Knight’s Daughter they answer in no language we can decipher.

But by their song, they could find one another anywhere in the forest. Until poachers visited the forest, and plundered its rarities for the wealthy, the spoilt, the cruel.

“When the sun rose on that day, the white bird sang. Yet for the first time in millennia, there was no response. The bird was alone.”

Lowell, I’m sorry

If I could take it back

If you could see my nightmares—if you could know how much I regret it all—

You weren’t wrong about me.

Do you really think that’s how the story ends, Cassandra?