“It will be only the beginning.”
Chapter 34
Elira
I am in a dark, sparse room. Someone is brushing my hair and singing me a little song—soft and low, a lullaby about a girl who fell in love with the moon.
The brush pulls too hard sometimes, catching on knots. It should hurt.
But I don’t mind.
Because I like the way she sings to me.
The voice is cracked around the edges, like the singer hasn’t spoken in days—or years—but it wraps around me like wool.
The room is both familiar and not. The wallpaper is faded, peeling in the corners. Pale silver vines twist across the surface, and though I’m sure I’ve never been here before, I feel like I know every line of those patterns.
Like I once traced them with tiny fingers and counted the leaves to fall asleep.
There’s a single window, but it’s tiny and covered in thick velvet curtains. Moonlight leaks around the edges, soft and blue.
The woman behind me hums as she works, her breath warm against my scalp.
“Such pretty hair,” she murmurs, her tone lilting. “Just like your mother’s. But your eyes… oh, your eyes are older.”
I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes.
Her fingers brush against my neck, cool and gentle. I shiver.
Then the brushing stops.
The lullaby dies mid-note.
Her hands freeze.
And I feel it—
the shift in the air.
The wrongness.
Her breath is too still. Too close.
Slowly, I lift my eyes to the mirror in front of me.
And the reflection is wrong.
It’s not me.
It’s a girl with my face—but younger. Barefoot. Dressed in white. Her mouth is smiling.
But her eyes are black.
And behind her—no one stands at all. I am alone. I look for her, but there is no one.
The dream changes, and I am in a garden. It is dark out, like rain is coming. I am rolling a ball on the grass and I am lonely. I roll the ball too far… then suddenly. Something is different.
Someone rolls the ball back.
