And next to them was a silver frame holding the picture that made everything inside me vibrate.
It was my sister Jinx.
She lay on grass, smiling, surrounded by daisies, her blonde hair snaking its way around the grass blades like silky serpents.
She looked happy. She wasglowing. It was my favorite picture of her.
I wanted to take it in my hands but didn’t.
I wanted to cry, to sigh, to whisper something to her but didn’t.
I wanted to feel, thought I should—heartbreak, sadness,something—but didn’t.
There were windows in the square room, on the other side of the bed, across from the white, polished wardrobe. I thought I should go open one and look outside, see Neverwhen—but instead decided that I would lie down on the bed without changing, without pulling the covers, and sleep.
After all, there was still a good chance I was dreaming.
And what better way to wake up than to fall asleep?
I wokeup on the same bed, with the same dress on and the same dread consuming me on the inside.
Not a dream.
I went to the nearest window of two, opened it, andlooked outside. The night air was warm—it was almost summertime, after all—and the view of the city refused to let it go down my throat for three-four-five seconds.
Round buildings. So many of them beyond a tall golden fence, yet so much grass and nothingness on this side of it. I was high up, possibly three floors, and the tower, at the top of which was the Great Clock was to my left, not too far in the distance. I barely saw the face of it when I stretched my neck outside the window, but the hands weren’t moving.
The Great Clock was indeed stuck at eight-thirteen. The lights illuminating it from the tip of the tower left me no doubt—it was as clear as if the sun was shining.
My sense of dread intensified. Or maybe it was hunger? It gnawed at my insides and distracted me from the view below, the twinkling lights, the round buildings. I was in the city of Neverwhen, the heart of the realm—and all I could think about was food. And a bathroom.
To my surprise, I found one behind a door near the windows in my very room. It was small, but it had everything I needed: a shower cabin, a toilet, a basin, and most importantly, a mirror shaped like a heart.
I’d never been more curious to see my own reflection before. When I stepped in front of it with my breath held, I expected…something.Something different. There had to be something off and strange that the mirror would reflect back to me.
It didn’t.
Same blonde hair and blue eyes. Same jawline, same thin brows. My ears were the same size as well, and the tip of my nose was still as upturned. Each one of my freckles was in place, too, and my teeth were the same white they’d always been. My collarbone and arms, my breasts and my legs and my toes—everything was the same as always.
Which was absolutely ridiculous.How could one feel likea stranger in one’s skin, but the skin still remained the very same?
Ah, but it didn’t.
I saw the redness only when I unzipped the dress, pushed down the sleeves, and let it slide off my body. When I heard thethumpas it fell to the floor, I realized the Life Clock was still attached to it. I’d slept with it, too, and hadn’t noticed. Judging by the stiffness of my body, I hadn’t moved at all while in bed.
But my skin was raw red in some places—the left side of my waist, my right arm, and my right thigh. Red, like someone had just hit me, like I’d just been attacked. My back, too, and when I reached up to touch it, I felt the pain just below my shoulder blades, as if it had been waiting for me to notice it since forever.
My eyes closed for a second. Flashes of large sharp teeth were in front of me. Grass and night and blood—so much blood.When I looked down at my body again, I could have sworn I was covered in it.
My stomach turned. Bile rose up my throat. I brought both hands to my mouth and kept my eyes on the mirror to convince myself that I was clean. No blood was on me. My skin might be red in some places, but I had no blood on me. I wasnotoutside and there were no beasts coming for me.
I am okay.
But I wasn’t. It was clear to see in my very eyes, even if I didn’t know why. Nothing was okay, and nothing was a dream, and somehowthiswas happening.
Somehow, I was in Neverwhen, even though I didn’t remember ever leaving home. Somehow, we’d won the trials—the twelve Hands of Time—but now we were only eleven and we had tounwineverything—or die.
This was all becoming soreal, and I didn’t know what to do with it. Or myself.
