“Before you ask, no—I cannot tell you. Even I cannot remember her name.” Feodora’s voice was soft, but not fragile. More like something weathered. “She was nameless, from beginning to end. I’m sorry for that too, Astoria.”
There it was again, that quiet grief in her eyes. A resignation so deep it made the air feel heavy. She closed the book and sat back in her chair.
“And what of the poem Death recited to me when he had me kidnapped?” I leaned forward, my pointed elbows digging into the soft flesh of my thigh. A run in my tights had already appeared above my knee.
“Ahh…” Her forehead creased, and then she turned the page.
There, barely legible, was the curse. Faded ink. A smatter of gold dust beside it.
Fate’s voice grew eerie as she chanted the words I should have committed to memory.“At twenty-two, the clock will freeze, but blessings turn with bitter teeth. No joy, no peace, no love shall last. All sweetness curdles into past. Each daughter born shall wear my scorn, till Death himself their fate is torn."
“I don’t understand.”
“For once, Astoria. Neither do I. You not only cheat Death, but you stole from Time, and you blinded Fate. A few weeks ago, Death appeared and asked me to show him your curse, and this justappeared.”
Worrying my lip between my teeth, I ran a finger across my damnation in ink.
Feodora lifted my chin, daring me to meet her swirling gaze. “Your threads are uncertain, whatever you choose. Choose wisely. Be earnest. Look to your heart, the heart never fails.”
Heavy words, bestowed from wisdom herself. And I couldn’t breathe beneath them.
I looked down at my hands, trembling against the old book’s cracked leather, and for the first time, I let the thought fully bloom: maybe I wasn’t strong enough for this.
It had taken me years to get here. How many more to unravel the curse? And if Idid—what then?
Would I die?
Yes. Of course I would.
I’d traded my soul to the devil himself. Was I ready to die?
My thoughts flickered back to Ira, to Dante’s Inferno, to the funeral I still couldn’t fully mourn. There could be no more running. My reckoning was coming, and my sins lay piled like the bodies left behind.
Run, the voice inside me demanded.You can always run. Don’t save anyone and nobody gets hurt. You get to live. You get to breathe. It’s not your burden, not really.
But I quieted it. I’d heard it all before…
At my husbands death. On the train from Berlin. During the outbreak in New Orleans. Fleeing the proposal in London. On the plane to Seattle.
In the hospital. At every grave I stood beside. I’d run all my life. But this? This wasn’t something I could outrun. It was in me. Itwasme.
And I had to be stopped.
“It’s late,” Feodora said softly, as if she’d just remembered the concept of time. “I believe Death’s decided to stay. You should either go enjoy the party or retire upstairs. I have things I need to attend to.” She gestured to a set of antique bells on the wall, one of those old-fashioned butler systems I hadn’t seen on over a century. “You can ring for whatever you need. And send Death in on your way out, will you?”
Her fingers pressed into her forehead, holding her skull together, as a deep frown carved into her face. She looked... spent. Somehow I’d siphoned all the light out of the room just by being in it. Again.
“Thank you,” I said, voice quiet. “For everything.” I meant it. I would never forget this encounter with Fate.
I stepped out into the hallway, still dizzy with the weight of what I’d learned, what Ihadn’tlearned, and was thoroughlydisappointed to find Death wasnotwaiting outside the library. Instead, Day uncrossed his arms and pushed off the wall.
“Found a shirt, huh?”
“Death made me,” he grumbled, wrapping an arm around my waist as he leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s a jealous bastard.”
“Is he now?”
“Yep, and I’ve got Storybook duty,” he chirped. “So, what do you wanna do, princess?”
