I stared at it for a long moment.
“It’s from Mrs. Ashby,” I said to Poe, procrastinating still.
He made a small clicking sound, then bobbed his head up and down as if acknowledging my words.
With slow, measured movements, I poured myself a cup. Poe watched silently, his beady eyes oddly solemn. I brought the cup to my lips.
The warmth of it spread through me instantly. Gentle. Sweet. Like something kind and familiar, wrapping around me like a soothing hug.
I finished it all, my eyes slowly growing heavier with each sip.
By the time I climbed into bed with Poe nestled sweetly on the footboard, my limbs were heavy with a quiet stillness. The panic that had curled around my lungs all day finally loosened.
Sleep pulled at me like a tide.
The last thing I saw before darkness took me was the empty tray on my nightstand, and the note still resting beside it.
**********
I awoke some time later, with a violent start.
My heart pounded, too fast, too hard, like I’d been dragged up from drowning. The air was thick, close, and heated. It pressed against my skin as if the room itself were breathing.
My vision swam. Shapes blurred, then steadied. Poe sat on the bedside table, feathers stiff and ruffled, watching me with glossy black eyes that gleamed like polished obsidian.
I tried to sit up, but my body rebelled. My limbs felt heavy, as if filled with sand. The world swayed around me and my tongue tasted sour and oddly metallic.
I stumbled from the bed, clutching the post for balance. The air was suffocating. I needed to breathe, to think.
I staggered to the window, fumbled at the latch, and forced it open. The rush of cold night air struck me like salvation. I leaned out, gulping it down in deep, greedy breaths, the chill prickling my skin.
The moon hung low over the gardens, silver and immense. Mist curled along the ground like restless spirits, winding between theroses and marble statues. For a moment, the world was still. The only sound was the beating of my heart.
Then my eyes caught on something.
Movement.
Two figures stood in the courtyard below.
At first, I thought it must be my vision, the lingering fog in my mind conjuring shapes from shadow. But then the mist shifted, and the moonlight cut through it clean and sharp.
The man was tall, his posture unmistakable. His dark hair tousled by the wind. His hand on the small of a woman’s back.
My lungs constricted.
The woman tilted her head up, the pale gleam of her hair catching the light. Her face was turned toward his, her lips parted in a smile.
Then he kissed her.
Not politely. Not chastely. Deeply. Possessively.
My hand flew to my mouth, a sharp gasp breaking the silence.
I should have turned away. I should have closed the curtains and told myself I was mistaken. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.
The man lifted his head, and the moonlight struck his face with perfect clarity.
Sylum.
