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But when I took her brush and glanced up in the mirror, I gasped. Instead of the beautiful woman I saw just a moment before, staring back at me was a rotting skull, with decaying flesh and two round holes for eyes. She was not Ana anymore, but Death.

This was the first sign that something was terribly wrong. When Ana asked what was the matter, I quickly regained my composure. I pretended to smooth some of my curls in the mirror. “I didn’t realize I looked such a mess.” It was partially true—my hair did have some wild wisps—though my appearance was not nearly as frightening as hers.

“Nonsense, Magdalena. You are very beautiful,” she said.

This flustered me greatly. The way she said it so simply, so matter-of-fact. I refocused on my task, doing my best to avoid glancing in the mirror. I asked her how her day was, expecting her to bring up Marko’s postcard, but instead she told me that she hadn’t slept well the night before.

“Do you have any experience deciphering nightmares?” she asked.

“Some,” I replied.

She remained silent for a few moments before going on, picking at a ruffle in her dress. “I keep having the same dream. I am running through the woods of Tolba and . . . something is chasing me.”

My heart began to beat faster. While I’m not the most well-versed in dream reading, I did not have a good feeling already. “What is it?” I asked.

“A wolf.” My hand faltered. “It is not good,” she stated in a flat voice. Not a question, but a confirmation.

That was when my thoughts started racing—the memory I couldn’t place on my first visit, why the rotten smell seemed familiar in some way. It all started to come together, a dark shadow, a fearful notion, though I didn’t want to say anything to worry her. Not then, not until I knew more.

“What else happens in the dream?” I asked.

“That is all. The wolf has big yellow eyes and black fur. It chases and chases me, getting closer every time. When I wake up, I feel weak and tired, like I truly have been running all night.” She paused, her voice lowering. “Could it be . . . a mora?”

I nearly laughed at this. It was not something I expected to ever hear from her lips, such baseless superstition. I blame it on the sailors—leave it to men to transform all their terrors into women. And yet I could see Ana was genuinely worried, so I asked, “Do you feel pressure on your chest at night, or does your body refuse to move when you wake up?”

She thought for a moment, then answered, “No.”

“Then it is not a mora,” I informed her. I fumbled for something else to say to alleviate or explain. “It could be a manifestation of your anxieties. Is there something that’s been worrying you?”

She bit her lip as she considered her answer. I shivered at the thought of the skull doing the same in the mirror. “I do get anxious when Marko is on his trips.”

“Why is that?”

She fell into silence. I could feel the churn of her thoughts as I braided her hair, as she decided what exactly to tell me. Could it be the gambling problem that Nikola had mentioned? “It is nothing. He chose me, and that’s all that matters.”

It was a strange thing to say. He chose her? I wasn’t sure what she meant, if she was referring to their marriage or something else. She swept the topic away with a wave of her hand, then instructed me how to pin her hair. I didn’t mind—I didn’t wish to linger on my dark thoughts, on what a wolf could represent. She seemed pleased with my work, though it was simple.

“Now it’s your turn,” she said, standing up and prompting me to sit.

I tried to refuse, but she insisted. It felt awkward at first, sitting there, before her grand mirror. But her gentle brushing helped to ease my worries. She hummed as she combed out my long hair. Unexpectedly, a swell of emotion rose in me. It’s been so long since someone has touched me so kindly.

When she finished, she went to her armoire and came back with something glinting. A necklace strung with intricate silver beads and an ornate cross. “It’s called kolarin, from Dubrovnik,” she explained, clasping it around my neck. “There. Beautiful.” When I looked into the mirror, the contrast made my heart stutter. On one side, a corpse. On the other—

I hardly recognized myself. She had arranged my hair into a graceful knot with braids, more elaborate than the styles you used to do. And the necklace gleamed like starlight about my neck. I am not sure if it was simply the comparison, for anything beside her rotting face would look better, but even my eyes seemed brighter, my skin more glowing. For the first time in a long time, I truly felt . . . beautiful, as she called me.

I offered to make her tea then, with chamomile and lavender, to help her relax. I went to remove the necklace, but she insisted I keep it on for the evening. When I went downstairs to the kitchen, Nikola must have heard me moving about the house, because he joined me while I was boiling the water.

“How is she?” he asked as soon as he entered, but he faltered once I turned, his eyes darting to the necklace.

“Ana put it on me,” I said quickly, embarrassed.

He stood there, taking me in. “I see. It’s just. You look . . .”

“Different?” I offered.

“Yes,” he stated quietly. He said nothing more, though by the way his eyes gleamed, I almost felt he was . . . pleased. Could it be he thought me beautiful too?

I told him I believed Ana was overly anxious due to Marko’s absence, though I did not mention her haunting reflection or her nightmare. I didn’t want to worry him before I confirmed my guess. He helped me prepare the tea, offering to carry it upstairs, and when he took the tray from my hands, his fingers brushed mine. It sent a fire all throughout my body.