Chapter 42
ANOTHER DREAM
ONA WARM SPRING afternoon, Corin and Amelia drank tea with their friends, and nobody died.
The tea smelled like lemon but tasted like sugar. The garden bloomed with marigolds, a vivid orange that shone like sunset. In the kitchen, Malicine brewed a pot over the fire, their raven perched over their shoulder and sniffing for caramel and smoke. Quiet, tinkling sounds of spoons and ceramic rang through the cottage, occasionally interrupted by Corin’s sneezes from the marigolds. Amelia laughed at how Corin sounded like a foghorn, yet always kept napkins on hand, silk handkerchiefs that felt plush on Corin’s itching nose.
Beyond the porch, where sunflowers grew in the garden and white sheets hung by clothespins, footprints peppered over a winding path. Elly peered behind a stalk, her wild hair spilling over her shoulders in tangled strands of clovers. She brought her pets, a cat and rabbit, to look at the chirping birds. Hats and frilly dresses adorned the animals, a clumsy attempt to make her pets match her own dress made of daisies.
Elly fussed with the sleeve sliding down the cat’s arm. She yelped when the cat scratched her hand.
“Ow! Dime, that hurt!”
They spent the afternoon patching Elly’s wounds while Dime hid beneath the porch and licked his paws. For the rest of the day, Elly whined that the scratches would leave permanent scars.
Corin rolled her eyes. It was the worst thing that ever happened to her little sister.
? ? ?
ON A COLD winter evening, Corin washed the dishes to the sound of Amelia humming a song, and nobody died.
They did, however, come close to death during dinner with Malicine’s sisters. The meal started off seemingly well, as one would expect from family reconciliations: passive-aggressive remarks, false platitudes, empty compliments over tomato stew. One biting remark too many led to screaming arguments, thrown porcelain, and shattered ice. Malicine told their sisters to get out of their face and never speak to them again, or else they’d stab each sister’s eyeball with their fork and feed it to Talon.
Corin preferred washing dishes in the aftermath because the activity brought a welcome silence. Amelia was better at soothing Malicine, anyway, as she swept the ice shards in a dusting pan and straightened the dining table.
At some point, Elly pointed out that there was still cake left. Beyond empty glasses and crumb-filled plates, a melted pile of buttercream drooped over a glass pedestal. Blue icing made the cake look like it was frowning, and everyone toppled over laughing from its similarity to Corin. The glare Corin pointed at them did not help their laughter quiet down.
They ate cake on the floor that evening, deciding the overturned chairs and broken furniture would be dealt with another day. The cake, despite its slush form, still tasted quite good.
Malicine admitted they would never be on good terms with their sisters. They held too much resentment. “It’s all right,” the demon said, and Corin could tell they meant it. “I know I don’t owe anyone forgiveness.”
As they savored the last piece of cake, Corin contemplated that the night hadn’t turned out so bad. There were more dinners to be had, after all, and other families to celebrate with.
? ? ?
ON A HOT summer morning, Corin showed Amelia her paintings, and nobody died.
This was largely because Amelia restrained Corin from killing her sister when she discovered Elly had left a handprint on the canvas long before the paint dried. Corin had hoped some habits would die with age as Elly turned older, yet even at eighteen, her sister never learned to wipe her hands properly after eating. Sticky fruit, mixed with curiosity about Corin’s latest creation, resulted in a red smear across Amelia’s face in the painting.
“I love it,” the real Amelia said, admiring the glossy paint that streaked golds in her hair, the background of tree foliage and tangled vines.
“It’s wrong,” Corin hissed, fixated on the red smear.
Amelia plucked a strawberry growing from the garden in their backyard. She tore the flesh with her teeth and let the sticky juice drip down her chin. Her fingers dabbled around her mouth, leaving rose-colored residue.
“Now it’s right.”
Corin stared at the girl, her painting coming to life. The red hue of Amelia’s lips, the strands of golden hair stuck to her cheeks. Her hand cupped Amelia’s face and pulled her closer. Their skin was warm with beads of sweat running down their necks. She kissed every part where the stain was, tasting strawberry with each press of her lips.
Amelia did that so well, dealing with Corin’s grouchiness, reminding her what was important. Elly was eighteen, the age Corin was when they had first met. She remembered the immaturity she carried back then, and was grateful for the freedom she had now, one that could kiss a beautiful girl without restraint.
? ? ?
ON A CHILLY autumn afternoon, Corin held Amelia’s hand along a leaf-covered path, and nobody died.
Corin could tell death was coming soon, for age and time had weathered them both like crumpled plants. They mirrored the dying trees around them with hunched backs and sagging skin. Countless seasons filled with bitter winters and sweltering summers, and they had spent every moment growing old together.
Yes, they were old, but they still enjoyed hearing leaves crunch beneath their boots, even if they had to hold on to each other’s arms for balance. The frigid chill hurt Corin’s bones a little, but the fresh air was always welcome. They found a bench beneath a maple tree to rest their feet. Bluebirds chirped among the branches. Corin watched leaves change from orange to crumbling brown. She thought about how sometimes things died and no one could do anything about it but let it happen, grateful that the leaves had once been a remarkable color anyway.
The two of them sat in silence, waiting for the end.
Amelia turned to Corin, her face crumpled in fear. She whispered, “What if I’m not strong enough?”
Corin turned to stare at the sea glass in Amelia’s eyes, the snow in her white hair, the golden sun in her freckles. She remembered the years they shared that never existed. Memories of stars and oceans and specks of time where their paths never crossed. A love that had time to bloom even though it could never exist one hundred years apart. The same questions echoed in their minds.
What if I’m not strong enough?
What if it doesn’t get better?
What if I can’t survive this?
What if—
Corin blinked. Ah, she thought. This is a dream.
Even dreams must end, and she could feel this one fading. She looked down and saw blood spread from her abdomen. Trees disappeared, and their surroundings turned to white. Amelia could barely hold on to Corin as she was dying. The amulet glowed brighter still, like a light at the end of the tunnel.
With the last of her strength, Corin pulled Amelia closer, tasting salt and grief in their kiss. Between their lips, she whispered her answer.