Page 60 of The Unseelie Court

Now she did.

And she never wanted to hear it again.

When the rasping breaths started to fade, Ava knew it was time. She held her mom’s hand until she felt the pulse stop. And heard the breathing…stop.

Ava laid down her head and wept.

Just wept.

Alone.

Because that’s what she was, now.

Alone.

“Yes, I think memories of her will do just nicely. I will have the lot.” An old woman stood by the bed. The crone. She smiled down at her mother’s corpse with immense pity—withrealkindness. There was no cruelty there. No grinning malice. She reached out a hand and gently stroked her mother’s cheek. “Poor dear. Poor little dear.”

“Please. Please, don’t…” Ava clung to her mother’s hand, like it would actually help her hold onto the memory of her. Maybe it would. “She was my best friend. I didn’thaveanybody else.”

“Little brass bird, all crass chirps and sharp edges. Alone, alone, alone. How you’ve always felt, how you’ve always been. And you drive them away. Ever wonder why?” The crone continued to smile empathetically down at her mother’s corpse.

“I don’t need to be psychoanalyzed by you, lady.”

“Mm. Perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you do.” The crone finally shifted her focus over to her. “The fact remains, I will take these memories.”

“Please. Anything else. Or take this one—just this memory of her.”

“And leave the pleasant ones? I have enough grief, little brass bird.” The crone shook her head. “If I only took the memories that no one wanted, I would never cease to cry.”

“That’s not my problem. You can’t take her from me, you justcan’t.”

“And you can say that all you like. But you entered into this arrangement willingly, Ava Cole. And I am, by right, allowed to take whatever I wish from you. And these memories are the ones I desire.” There wasn’t an ounce of evil in the woman’s voice. Just inevitability.

Ava stared at the crone, her heart thundering in her chest. The room seemed to grow colder, the air heavier with each passing moment.

“Please. I’m begging you. You can’t,” she whispered again, her voice breaking. “These memories are all I have left.” Now she was begging.

The crone tilted her head, studying Ava with ancient eyes that had witnessed countless griefs across time. “And yet they are what I have chosen. The bargain was struck, little brass bird. Your consent was given.”

“I didn’t know?—”

“You knew exactly what you were agreeing to,” the crone cut in, her voice gentle but firm. “The terms were clear. Anything of value. And what could be of greater value to you than these memories?”

Ava felt the room begin to spin. Could she hyperventilate in a dream? She couldn’t lose her mother twice. The first death had nearly destroyed her; this second one—this erasure—would be unbearable. Without these memories, who would her mother become? Just a name, a concept, a woman who had existed but whose touch, voice, and love would be nothing more than abstract knowledge.

The crone extended her hand, palm up, waiting. “It needn't be painful. You will not even know what you have lost.”

“That’s the problem—that's worse,” Ava choked out. “Not even knowing what’s missing.”

She needed to stop this. Somehow. Someway. Shutting her eyes, she…just…did something.Anything.

Change the apple.

Change it.

Focus.

Serrik. Please. Help me.

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