Blinking to try and clear the vision of him out of my eyes even for a split second, I swear between the flashes of darkness I see his pupils narrow to slits before they are back to normal.
“I don’t know how to put it into words,” I whisper.
“Will you try for me?” He pulls away, his hand leaving my waist as he spins me again. My dress fans out about me in a dazzling show of light blue, swirling about the marbled floors. He pulls me in before I can lose my balance, his grip on me steady.
Shaking my head, I barely squeak out, “I’m scared.”
“Of me?” he asks gently.
Sucking in a breath that lifts my shoulders, I blow it out. “Yes, perhaps a bit. But it's more than that. I’ve always been scared to be sent home, but now, also scared to stay. And…” I shake my head, glancing over to Willow, then hoping to find Marcella in the crowd but still finding her absent. “I’m fearful of all the memories I haven’t recalled yet. I still feel like there’s a part of myself I’m missing. What if it’s best I forget it? But I can’t?” I look up at him.
“I understand. Sometimes the darkest memories are the ones that stick the longest.”
“Have you ever wiped your own memories?”
He blinks at the question. “I’ve tried, but…It doesn’t work on me.” There’s a sadness that settles over him like a light snowfall.
A heavy, quick set of clicking approaches and we both snap to the sound as Marcella storms our way.
“I need to speak with you immediately,” she growls from a few paces away.
Cyrus drops his hand from my waist and I slip my hand out of his. I walk to her before she can close the distance between us, resting a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?—”
She flies past me, eyes hooked into Cyrus like she’ll carve him into ribbons.
“Sorry, Lyra, please excuse the interruption—” he says to me then stops, eyes wide at Marcella’s expression.
“You,” Marcella hisses, before Cyrus steps in to cut her off and ushers her away.
I watch after them. Confused. Worried.
Aelia approaches me. “What’s the matter with her? She skips out for a while, then comes back in the most sour mood?”
“I don’t know,” I admit.
Forty
- MARCELLA -
Cyrus leads me to the reflection room, and as he grabs the handle, it opens. Moe and Stella freeze with wide-eyed gazes before they mutter apologies and slip out.
For a moment, it’s a good distraction from my anger.Odd that they were in there.We watch them walk back to the dance floor for a split moment before I push past Cyrus into the room. As I swivel to face him, he shuts the door.
“How. Dare. You.” I enunciate each word through gritted teeth.
“What?” he asks, shaking his head. “What have I done this time, Marcella?”
Anger shakes my limbs, my blood. I’m doing everything I can to keep my temper from erupting under the pressure bubbling beneath me. I flick a single finger out to the room beyond him. “That song!”
His face relaxes into understanding. He takes a step forward, then another. “You remember?”
I throw up a hand between us. “Stay away from me!”
He pauses mid-step, lowering his boot back to the ground behind him. “Let me have it, then.”
A tremble sparks to life in my lips before I bite down on it. Hard enough I’m starting to taste blood. “That song? You’ve played it for me before?—”
“I wrote it foryou, yes,” he whispers pleadingly.
