“Poppy?” Professor Silvermoon’s voice is gentle. I turn to find her watching me, her dark blue eyes soft with concern. “Are you all right?”
I set the teacups down carefully, arranging them in the basin with more attention than necessary, if only to give my hands something to do. “I’m fine. Just tired. Finals week, you know.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, like oversteeped tea left too long to cool.
In my periphery, she studies me for a moment, and I havethe uncomfortable feeling that she can see right through my carefully constructed facade. She’s a master diviner, after all. Reading people must come naturally to her. And despite how hard I try, I’ve never been particularly good at hiding my feelings.
“Mm,” she says, sounding unconvinced. She joins me at the basin, then sets down her own armful of dishes and wipes her hands on a cotton cloth. “Well, if you have a moment, I wanted to go over the final details for the ball. There are still a few things that need attention before Saturday.”
Saturday. Three days away. Three days until I’m supposed to stand in that beautiful ballroom—the one I’ve spent weeks and weeks dreaming about—and watch other couples dance and be happy while my heart is in pieces.
My throat tightens, but I force myself to nod and meet her eyes. “Of course.”
After wiping tea from my hands, I grab my notebook and quill from my bookbag, then follow Professor Silvermoon to her desk, where she’s spread out various parchments: the ballroom layout, the menu, and the schedule for the evening, with times blocked out in different-colored inks.
I sink into the chair across from her desk and flip to a fresh page in my notebook, trying to ignore how my hands won’t quite stop trembling. It’s been like this for days—since speaking with Aric in the library, since what I thought we’d been building together crumbled out from beneath my feet.
“The memory mist is being stored in the castle’s vault until Saturday, when we’ll transfer it to the castle. We’ll need to coordinate with Mrs. Fairhaven about the timing.”
Memory mist. The luminous fairy substance Aric and I traveled to Faunwood to retrieve. The thing that’s supposed to show people their memories and deepest desires when they gaze into it.
I remember the carriage ride, the prairie fish glowing in the darkness, the feeling of Aric’s hand in mine. I remember the Golden Lantern, the one bed, how safe I felt as he held me through the night. And even now, I remember Aurora’s words:The people we’re meant for are rarely the easiest ones to love, but they’re the ones who make us braver.
The irony of it all threatens to choke me.
“Poppy?” Professor Silvermoon’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Did you get that?”
I blink and realize I haven’t written anything down. My quill hovers uselessly over blank parchment. “Sorry. Yes. Coordinate with Mrs. Fairhaven. I can do that.”
“Wonderful.” Professor Silvermoon’s eyes linger on me for a moment longer before she continues. “The musicians have confirmed. They’ll arrive early in the evening to set up. And the decorations all need to be in place no later than six, before the guests start to arrive.”
I force myself to write as Professor Silvermoon talks through the final details, scratching notes across the page in shaky handwriting.Floating candles.Like the ones on Samhain, when Aric and I danced by the bonfire before slipping away into the Whim.Enchanted snow.Like the snow falling outside the frosty window right now, the snow that covered the courtyard where I saw him with Morgan.
Everything is a reminder. Everything circles back to him.
Professor Silvermoon is quiet for a moment, and when I glance up from my notes, she’s watching me with an expression that’s far too knowing.
“Poppy,” she says gently, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”
I straighten. “I don’t know what you mean,” I say, but my voice wavers, giving me away—not that Professor Silvermoon would’ve been convinced anyway.
“Yes, you do.” She leans back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. “Something’s troubling you. Has been for days now. And while I respect your privacy, I’m concerned about you.”
The tears I’ve been fighting since the moment I woke up this morning threaten to spill over again. I press my lips together, trying to hold them back, but it’s useless. “It’s nothing. I’m just... stressed about finals.”
Professor Silvermoon arches a pale eyebrow, her lips pursing as she regards me. “Are you sure that’s what’s bothering you? I’ve never known you to get stressed about finals.”
Of course it’s not finals. It’s the fact that I spent an entire semester helping to plan this beautiful, romantic ball and now I won’t have anyone to dance with. It’s that every detail we’re discussing reminds me of Aric—of our trip to Faunwood, of how he asked me to the ball with that golden leaf in the cookie shop’s back garden, down on his knee like I was someone worth kneeling for.
It’s that I can still feel the ghost of his hand in mine, can still hear the way his voice broke when he said he was terrified of losing me—right before he decided to lose me anyway.
It’s that I wake up every morning and for just a moment, I forget. And then I remember, and it’s like losing him all over again.
“I-I...” My voice comes out small and trembling, barely more than a whisper. “Aric and I... We’re not together anymore.”
Professor Silvermoon’s expression shifts, her brows pulling together, her lips tilting down at the corners. “Oh, Poppy. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I say, even as tears start to slip down my cheeks. “It was just... It wasn’t working. With finals and everything, we just...” I can’t finish the sentence. I can’t even explain tomyselfhow we fell apart without meaning to, how we both wanted it to work but didn’t know how to bridge the gap that had grown between us.
“That must be very difficult,” she says quietly, but there’s no pity in her voice, just gentle understanding.
