Crescent

18

"... finished yet?"

"Don't rush me. It's hard to reattach an ear when my magic is so flimsy."

The prick of a needle slid through the tender flesh on the side of Vera's head, but she couldn't find the strength to even wince at the invasive touch. It burned, lighting her skin on fire, but it wasn't unfamiliar. She couldn't help but feel that the needle had slid in and out in a delicate dance for a long time now.

Darkness hung all around her. Voices came and went. The only constant was the needle and the crackle of magic thread sewn along the path of the wound—along with the occasional frustrated huff when it fizzled out. Was that Zeno's hand against her forehead? It was strangely warm, a far cry from the frigid touch of his starry hands. The needle slid through her flesh again. This time, she clenched her jaw to hold back a groan. Zeno never took so long to heal anything, nor was he prone to the use of tools to aid his endless supply of power. She ran her tongue over her dry lips, ready with a complaint though her mouth was full of sand, but nothing ever came out.

Zeno. The forest. The crack of a shotgun. His silent scream as he collapsed, ichor pouring from the bullet hole in his chest. All at once, her memories slammed into her and broke through the darkness. The voices sharpened. She picked out her siblings among the drawl, their argument too liquid for her to grasp. It wasn't the chatter of the forest, nor the oppressive silence of the abandoned manor. Not even the distant, haunting echo of Elizabeth's moan. It was familiar.

With a jolt, Vera snapped her eyes open. The painted ocean no longer loomed over her. The tattered, ghostly curtains were no longer fluttering in the corner of her eye. The stench of mold was replaced with a faint floral scent, and her delicate crystal chandelier hung overhead, throwing iridescent shimmers over the pastel walls. Rain pattered against her window, closed behind thick curtains of navy and silver, delicate tassels hanging from the edges.

"Don't move." A strong hand pushed against her shoulder. Silas sat next to her on the bed, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed behind his perfectly polished glasses.

Another prick. The needle slid into her skin. Vera bit her tongue and strained to get a glimpse of her injured side, a curse ready for whoever sat there. She expected to find the family doctor or another healer whose face would be unfamiliar, someone that she could slice to bits with her sandpaper tongue. Instead, her gaze landed on Eileen, brow wrinkled in concentration as she maintained a glittering spool of magic thread. Her long black hair was braided down her back, her linen gown a plain tan and void of any of her usual embroidery at the hem. Beside her, silver needle in hand, bent over Vera's wounded side, was the eldest Reite sister.

Vera's breath caught in her throat. "Ferne?"

A soft smile graced Ferne's lips, but she otherwise kept her focus pinned on her work. The tips of her honeyed fingers were red with blood like the point of the needle pinched between them. "Be still, Vera. I'm almost finished."

"Zeno." Vera jerked out of Silas's hold and started to sit up. Her own duvet covers weighed her down, speckled with more blood. The room spun, but she rolled over and propped herself up on her arms, ignoring the sharp tug of the thread on her ear. Ferne and Eileen both lurched forward to give the thread some slack. Annoyance flashed across Eileen's face, but Vera didn't back down. "What happened to Zeno?"

Eileen's back straightened. "Who?"

"Lie down. Can't you be patient and listen for once?" Silas grumbled. He grabbed Vera's shoulder and wrenched her back against the pillows.

The movement yanked on the thread stitched into her wound, and Vera yelped. Tears sprang to her eyes as she gingerly touched the spot just above her jaw. Her fingers brushed the curved edge of her ear, and her heart fluttered.