She pulled it free, opened it with trembling fingers, and traced the curve of the L like it might answer her.
"Tell me you didn’t," she whispered. "Please tell me you didn’t."
But the paper didn’t answer.
Only those three words, over and over again.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
And none of them could silence the echo of Morgana’s voice.
25
She fell asleep on the floor, clinging to his letter. Praying that his words would rearrange themselves to give her some semblance of peace.
She was drowning.
She had spent so much time falling apart, so much time putting herself back together.
She couldn’t do it again.
Six months.
Six months since the midnight revelry.
Six months since the poison attempt
Six months since…
Her heart had cracked in two.
She would never be whole again.
I love you.
Morgana was pregnant, there was no denying it.
Why was the king so pleased?
She was broken again.
He would see her shattered.
A loud crash tugged her from her restless sleep, followed by a quieter curse.
She couldn’t sit up, didn’t care.
A knock at the door.
She didn’t answer.
She clutched at her letter.
If someone was here to end her, at least she would die with his words close to her heart.
