“I think the black train in contrast to the white gives it Cruella Deville vibes.” I looked up at Camora, who stood speechless. “It’s different, I know. It’s my first time attempting a lady’s pantsuit, so you have to tell me what you think. And tell me honestly.”
Camora shook her head in disbelief. “It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Do you want to try it on?” I asked, hoping she’d agree. I’d sewn it using her measurements, but if the jumpsuit wasn’t her taste or style, I didn’t want her feeling pressured into liking it, and I also didn’t want to overstep my boundaries. But I’d been dying to see her wear it all week.
Camora hadn’t taken her eyes off the jumpsuit. “Really?”
“Yeah. Otherwise, it will just end up at Oh My Stars collecting dust, waiting for the right person.”
“I’m going to try it on,” she said, taking the hanger from me.
Four minutes later, I was pacing the bedroom, waiting for Camora to come out of the bathroom.
“Camora,” I called. “Could you take any longer? I’m dying out here.”
“Adora,” she exclaimed, enunciating every syllable.
For the first time in weeks, a smile beamed between my cheeks. “What? What is it?”
“Adora,” she repeated.
“Camora, if you don’t come out here in three sec—”
Camora emerged from the bathroom, and my jaw fell open.
I slapped my palms on my mouth.
“It fits me perfectly.” Camora turned in place, straight black hair fanning across her shoulders, and I couldn’t stop smiling.
“You look incredible,” I finally said. “How do you feel?”
“I feel like … me.” She looked up. “Adora, did you make this for me?”
“No, of course not,” I lied with a grin I couldn’t hide. “Though when you complained about having to wear a dress for weeks, it inspired me to create something formal that wasn’t a dress ... And the wide legs give off the illusion—”
Camora threw her arms around me, cutting off my air supply. “I’m so happy you’re going to be my sister.”
My chest pained with guilt.
The music had started downstairs.
I waited another half hour before slipping into my dress.
A week had passed since I discovered that Cyrus was my soulmate. The Crypt of Secrets confirmed it. I’d seen it in writing with my own eyes. Though with every step down the stairs, nothing filled me as it should, in the way we’d been told our entire lives.
At this moment, I was a woman held hostage in a Victorian manor under mournful nightfall on the coast of a spell-bound town who was going out of her mind. And if the manor could be taken for a haunted castle, then I was its ghost. Shackled, restless, and roaming the narrow halls with a mind that couldn’t quite touch the ground.
I had not known true torment until I was forced to exist with his face in memories alone with no hope of creating new ones.
And I had not known a hollow, either.
A spirit I’ve become, indeed.
At the bottom of the stairs, I placed my hand on my abdomen, drew in a breath, and slid on my best face.
Pretend. Chin high.
Smile, my pretty lips.
