Tears brimmed in Amelia’s eyes. “Corin,” she pleaded. “You’re going to die.”
“I know you want to try again. You don’t need him, or anyone, to start over.”
“I can’t—” Amelia shook her head, sobbing. “I don’t want to wake up in a world without you.”
Even as Amelia clung onto her tight, Corin’s bones eroded away, starting from the tips of her toes as her blood dissolved to particles. She was afraid of dying, while the girl holding her was afraid of living. They had never met each other, not truly, and still, Corin had to believe that their dreams were enough.
“You’ll find other things to wake up for,” she promised.
The amulet sparked in pure light as the world crumbled around them. Amelia’s pleas echoed as Corin’s consciousness drifted farther away.
“What if I’m not strong enough?”
What if it doesn’t get better?
What if I can’t survive this?
What if—
Corin draped the chain around Amelia’s neck, choosing a new home for her grandmother’s pendant. Amelia’s eyes opened, a clear blue ocean in the void, tears lighting up like stars. Her fingers closed around the amulet. The snow beneath their bodies melted away. The amulet’s brightness consumed everything around them. Somewhere, beyond sight, a portal opened.
Corin felt herself unraveling. Her flesh was dissolving, her bones decomposing, her memories bleeding away. With the last of her strength, Corin pulled Amelia closer, tasting salt and grief in their kiss. Between their lips, she whispered her answer.
CHAPTER 42
ANOTHER DREAM
ONA WARM SPRING afternoon, Corin and Amelia drank tea with their friends, and nobody died.
The tea smelled like lemon but tasted like sugar. The garden bloomed with marigolds, a vivid orange that shone like sunset. In the kitchen, Malicine brewed a pot over the fire, their raven perched over their shoulder and sniffing for caramel and smoke. Quiet, tinkling sounds of spoons and ceramic rang through the cottage, occasionally interrupted by Corin’s sneezes from the marigolds. Amelia laughed at how Corin sounded like a foghorn, yet always kept napkins on hand, silk handkerchiefs that felt plush on Corin’s itching nose.
Beyond the porch, where sunflowers grew in the garden and white sheets hung by clothespins, footprints peppered over a winding path. Elly peered behind a stalk, her wild hair spilling over her shoulders in tangled strands of clovers. She brought her pets, a cat and rabbit, to look at the chirping birds. Hats and frilly dresses adorned the animals, a clumsy attempt to make her pets match her own dress made of daisies.
Elly fussed with the sleeve sliding down the cat’s arm. She yelped when the cat scratched her hand.
“Ow! Dime, that hurt!”
They spent the afternoon patching Elly’s wounds while Dime hid beneath the porch and licked his paws. For the rest of the day, Elly whined that the scratches would leave permanent scars.
Corin rolled her eyes. It was the worst thing that ever happened to her little sister.
• • •
ON A COLD winter evening, Corin washed the dishes to the sound of Amelia humming a song, and nobody died.
They did, however, come close to death during dinner with Malicine’s sisters. The meal started off seemingly well, as one would expect from family reconciliations: passive-aggressive remarks, false platitudes, empty compliments over tomato stew. One biting remark too many led to screaming arguments, thrown porcelain, and shattered ice. Malicine told their sisters to get out of their face and never speak to them again, or else they’d stab each sister’s eyeball with their fork and feed it to Talon.
Corin preferred washing dishes in the aftermath because the activity brought a welcome silence. Amelia was better at soothing Malicine, anyway, as she swept the ice shards in a dusting pan and straightened the dining table.
At some point, Elly pointed out that there was still cake left. Beyond empty glasses and crumb-filled plates, a melted pile of buttercream drooped over a glass pedestal. Blue icing made the cake look like it was frowning, and everyone toppled over laughing fromits similarity to Corin. The glare Corin pointed at them did not help their laughter quiet down.
They ate cake on the floor that evening, deciding the overturned chairs and broken furniture would be dealt with another day. The cake, despite its slush form, still tasted quite good.
Malicine admitted they would never be on good terms with their sisters. They held too much resentment. “It’s all right,” the demon said, and Corin could tell they meant it. “I know I don’t owe anyone forgiveness.”
As they savored the last piece of cake, Corin contemplated that the night hadn’t turned out so bad. There were more dinners to be had, after all, and other families to celebrate with.
• • •
