Her mother’s eyes widen as Althea continues pulling the artwork from the wall.
Runes, on the backs of every single piece.
Raina looks at her husband and says, “All this time, we were in danger, and you said nothing? You worked with her in secret? Why?”
“I tried, my love, and you cannot say that I didn’t. Every time we attempted to have the conversation about Marigold, about her magic and future, you panicked. And I understand why! I always understood your fear, but I also saw our daughter wilting, so I did what I thought was best. When Marigold first asked to goout during a full moon, I wrote to Althea. She wrote me back. I let Marigold follow her instincts. It seemed like it was best for everyone, and no one got hurt.”
“Iam hurt. I’ve been lied to for years, by everyone I thought I could trust. How do you expect me to heal from this? And what happens to our daughter now?”
Althea moves toward her daughter and says, “Marigold will be able to keep herself safe now. She is a powerful witch—”
“My daughter is not a witch!” she screams.
“Yes, I am,” Marigold says loudly over them. “I always have been. And it’s my turn to speak.” She centers herself in the room. “I have tried, all my life, to be someone I am not; a lady, an artist, a jewel. I’m sorry I could not be any of those things for you, but I was never meant to be.”
“Mari, all I ever wanted was for you to be safe and happy and loved. Above all else, loved! And now you’ve ruined that for yourself!”
“I have not ruined anything! My life has been a series of closed doors, but I’ve found an open window. I hope that you’ll forgive me in time, but it’s already done. I am a witch. I’m going to Innisfree.”
The longest silence fills the room, weighing on their shoulders, pressing into the paintings on the floor so that they will be forever tainted by this moment, this memory.
Frankie sighs loudly and says, “Well,Ithink—”
“Do not speak. I’ll deal with you later,” their mother interrupts.
Frankie raises his hands above his head like a hostage and says, “Yes, Mother.” Aster tries to hide a laugh under her breath, but her mother’s head whips around to stare her down.
“What was that?”
“Sorry,” she says, looking at the floor.
Another silence, somehow worse than the first one. Finally, her father stands and says, “Marigold, gather your things.”
“Now?” She looks at her mother, who can’t bear to meet her gaze.
“Now,” her father says.
She grabs Aster by the wrist and tugs her along upstairs. They rush into her room and close the door, grateful for a moment to breathe. As Aster promised, her things are mostly packed in her trunk, though it’s clear that Aster was interrupted before she could finish. The two of them move quietly through the room, grabbing tiny trinkets that she cannot leave behind: her diary, her mother’s gilded hairbrush that was gifted to Marigold years ago, and her favorite yellow hair ribbon.
“I’m happy for you, and I’m proud of you. But you must write to me as often as you can,” Aster says.
“Of course, I will. Think of the adventures we will find after we have time apart. All the stories we will have to share with each other. I’ll tell you and Frankie everything. I promise,” she says as she embraces her sister.
“You should probably change into something a little less… mine,” Aster says, and she laughs as she pulls away. Aster helps her out of the dress and into one of the last dresses waiting in Marigold’s wardrobe.
It’s yellow—how fitting for a Honey Witch.
“Mother will forgive you soon, you know. She’ll miss you too much to stay mad.”
Marigold sighs and tenses over the closed trunk. “I hope so.”
They carry her trunk back downstairs to find their mother ready to walk out of the room.
“Raina,” Althea says. It’s the weakest that Marigold has ever heard her voice. “This is the last time we will see each other. Please let it end with love.”
Her mother pauses in the doorway and turns her head gently over her shoulder. “I do love you, Mother.” She turns to her daughter and says, “And I love you, Marigold. But I can’t.”
She walks out of the room, leaving everyone in the endless echo of her words.
