Page 102 of Of Withering Dreams
My hand cupped the back of hers, turning it and placing one vial in her palm. She held it up, studying the gray and silver-speckled powder.
“I lied before. I remember everything … from every Dormancy we’ve ever been through. And that”—I pointed to the tiny glass container—“is how I know.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What the void are you on about? Are you unwell?” She put her other hand on my forehead, but I swatted it away.
“Listen, don’t tell anyone. I mean it. I don’t know who to trust except Gavrel, Kaden, and you.” I huffed, untying the laces of my vest, feeling less confined as I did so. “I’m wearing these clothes because it’s what my physical body was wearing when I came back … from where we go during the Dormancy.” My eyes rolled to the ceiling in frustration. I didn’t know where to start. I sighed, looking back at her. “There is too much to go over, but I will if you want me to in the coming days … or you can take that tonic.”
Letti watched me with an intense focus as I tried to summarize where we went during the Dormancy—in our astral bodies—and how I was there physically somehow.
I ran my thumb over the black sliver in my palm, its energy zinging against my skin. My ember revealed itself after it was bitten out. I suspected this rune had tethered my body to Midst Fall during our long mandated slumbers, but I wasn’t sure why or how. Yet.
I went over when and how to use the orchid potion. Considering what I told her, Letti’s bottom teeth dragged over her top lip. “I’ll take it. You know I’ll believe whatever you tell me regardless, and if this will bring back my memories—it’s what I want.”
“Okay, sis, but know that it may unearth painful things. Things you’ve done or said. People you’ve loved or hurt during the forgotten moments. It isn’t easy.” The corners of my mouth wobbled.
She grabbed my hand. “Then we’ll take the hard path together. It’s the last day of the full moon. Do you think it’ll work now?”
I smiled, the feeling foreign but not entirely unpleasant. “There’s only one way to find out. Be warned—it gave me an awful headache. It was like I’d been run over by a horse. I was knocked out for several hours as well, but I’ll be here. Promise.”
“I know you will. I’m ready.” Her voice was full of conviction, heading to her bed. She pricked her thumb on my dagger, letting a few drops spill into the vial. Once the potion resembled a starry midnight sky, she tipped it down her throat, reclining on her mattress.
Her eyes widened at some sensation brewing within her. I whispered and took her hand, “It’ll be okay. I’m here.”
She nodded but then bowed off the bed, her face contorting in pain. Her fingers dug into the back of my hand, and I smoothed her golden curls off her face. Then she settled, her features and limbs sagging into a mystical sleep.
While she slept, I informed Father that she was feeling unwell and resting. He didn’t question it, directed me to care for her—as if I wouldn’t—and then left the house to go about his business.
It felt good to wash off the grit and sorrow from my skin. There was still so much, so many emotions, colliding within me. But I felt like I could breathe again. The familiar warmth and scent of the grymwood trees. The creak of one particularly whiny floorboard in the hall.
As I slid my worn chemise over my head, I grimaced. The scratch of its fibers along my shoulders felt foreign, as if it were old skin my body wanted to shed. I slipped my knee-length, mud-colored kirtle over it, lacing it up and ensuring my membrane settled over my muscles and bones.
Once more, I checked on Letti, her face serene in slumber. I went to my bed, picking up the necklace pouch. The dried petal needed to be put somewhere safe. My mouth twisted to the side as I scanned the room before my eyes landed on the bark and catbane-reed box my sister made for my thirteenth birthday.
I plucked it from my nightstand, nestled the pouch inside, and lifted a loose floor plank under my bed, tucking it in the exposed hole before clicking the wood back in place.
Throughout the rest of the afternoon, my fingers disturbed our garden soil at the side of our cottage, dug into the earth, and sprinkled seeds.
My body moved without thought, the monotonous work soothing my jagged musings. I arched, pushing my hands into my lower back, wiping a bead of sweat from my brow, and wiping my hands together to rid them of the clinging dirt.
A soft breeze caressed my cheek, my auburn curls fluttering against my neck. It carried with it a sweet, musky scent. The aroma of wood and grass—living things—trying to draw breath through all the decay.
My eyes closed, arms wrapping around my waist. I breathed in to the count of four. Could I move forward after everything I’d done? Everyone I hurt?
I exhaled.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Did I have the strength to endure my memories?
Hold. Breathe in.
My eyes opened at the sound of flapping wings. The scratchy, gurgling caw of a raven swooped through the garden, nestling on a thick bough on a tree near the conservatory. It stared at me intently, tilting its head. I chewed the corner of my top lip, a tinder of hope kindling, yearning to chase away the shadowed doubts.
