“I… I have to go.”
Kaven stood. “Mavis—”
“It’s alright,” I assured him. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
I had nothing left to say on the topic. I needed to think.
He nodded, concern lacing his features. I stood on my tiptoes and planted a brief kiss on his cheek. With that, I turned around and left.
When I stepped out into the night, the torrent of rain had stopped. Crumbs of moonlight filtered through the swift current of clouds above. The Sky was making haste, and I could smell the change in the air.
I shook my head, silently cursing myself for being so superstitious. Perhaps Kaven was right; I had just been scaring myself for no good reason.
That’s all it was.
It had to be.
Chapter 3
“Do not linger in your sorrow.
Your tears do nothing but muddy the Ground.”
- The Old Book
Iwalked into my mother’s house, and dust immediately rose, stinging my throat. What once was a beautiful home, filled with laughter and light, was now a house in shambles. The roof leaked, the windows were broken, and the floors rotted. All things that should have been resolved years prior. But it wasn’t my home anymore, and it hadn’t been for a long time.
“Mom?” My voice echoed.
No answer. But then again, there never was.
I walked into the kitchen and observed the dishes I had yet to wash. They were next to a moldy loaf of bread I had forgotten to throw out.
Going further back into the hall, I walked to her bedroom. The door was open.
Inside, Mother was sleeping in her moth-eaten armchair. The one she refused to let me get rid of.
I paused, waiting for her chest to rise and fall just to make sure. Then I moved closer.
“Mom?”
She startled awake, eyes half-closed. “Willam?”
“No, Mom. It’s Mavis.” I pressed my hand gently to her sternum, easing her back down.
“Oh.”
Not the child she wanted to see.
“Just sleep,” I cooed.
She made a noise of agreement and closed her eyes again.
She was taking far too much valerian root. But it was a moot point; she wouldn’t have wanted me to interfere. She didn’t like being awake; it made everything real.
I went back to the kitchen and opened a jar of soup. I didn’t care to heat it; it wouldn’t matter to her. It was just something for her to eat when she woke up.
Once I put the soup on her side table, I took a walk through the rest of the house. I mentally cataloged all the tasks I needed to get to, but probably wouldn’t. There was only one room I didn’t enter, and that was my childhood bedroom. The room I had once shared with my brother.
