“She really has grown on you…” Feo mused, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
“The point, Feo. Get to the point. I’d rather not find Astoria in the lap of a stranger at another one of your absurd parties.” Feo had an enduring appetite for decadence, no matter the era, even as she often chose to present as an eighty-year-old heiress.
“Calm down, Death. She’s fine with Day. Besides, I thought you said you didn’t care.”
I did say that, but that was before.
“Sit down and shut up. We really must speak.” Gone was the charm of a sweet old lady, now replaced by the commanding ‘powers that be’ attitude.
I stood my ground, crossing my arms.
She scowled and pulled a small book from the drawer of her desk. “Do you remember when I called you here all those yearsago? When I showed you this?” She opened the book to a page, pointing down at something. “Your threads.”
I didn’t care about her books, or whether I had threads. It changed nothing.
“And?” I said, distracted, adjusting the fold of my sleeve where the skin beneath had begun to feel too tight—like it didn’t belong to me anymore. The human shape was always imperfect, too warm, too loud. Flesh was always so restless.
“They’ve changed.”
My curiosity finally got the better of me and I moved toward the book she lay open.
I scowled at the page. She spoke the truth. My threads had changed. One was clearly intertwined with Astoria’s, the other… unraveled, severed from her.
“This one—” she pointed to the thread intertwined with Astoria’s, looking me dead in the eye, “requires you to hide the depths of what you’ve done. If you continue down this path, the curse might never be lifted. She could remain frozen in time, tied to you forever.”
I flinched. The thread tied to Astoria’s was long-lasting, but the price of my silence was her eternal curse.
“And this one—” Feo pointed to the unraveled thread, lying lifeless on the page. “Is the one where you lay down your duty and give the truth. But that path comes with its own consequences.”
I stared at the page, the threads now a clear choice before me. One path kept Astoria bound to me, but also kept her cursed. The other path tore everything apart.
“The world will not fall apart if you choose your heart,” Feo’s voice broke through my thoughts. “The threads are malleable. You have the power to make the choice.”
My jaw clenched. Everything I had ever done, every decision I’d made, led to this. The moment where Astoria’s fate was inmy hands. I’d longed to separate us from the moment I met her, and now…
“I don’t need your help, Feo,” I snapped, my voice low and controlled.
“Then go,” she said, her tone almost pitying. “But know this: whichever thread you choose, it will change everything.”
I opened the door and slammed it shut behind me, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. Fate, like Fortune, was always somewhat of a romantic. And they didn’t understand the balance—like I did. They didn’t understand the burden of choice, of sacrifice, of love.
Peace was not without sacrifice, and my penance was paid.
I allowed myself to run gentle strokes through Astoria’s fiery hair. Kissing her had been a reckless choice, one made without a thought for the future. Yet, somehow, I cared. She had endured more heartache than anyone should in a lifetime. I was the cause of so much of it, yet now, I couldn’t bear to add to it.
I never told her how I found James' soul—his spirit, hovering on the brink of vengeance, poised to harm her. I’d seen him then, his hands wrapped tight around her throat, rage in his eyes as he screamed at her. “Witch! You witch! You and your damned curse!” His words were a visceral echo that I could still hear in the dark corners of my mind. She couldn’t see him, but I could. She held onto Beatrice, standing in the middle of the road, fighting against the unseen threat. I had burned that memory from my mind—on purpose. Not for her sake, but for mine.
A father was supposed to love his wife and protect his daughter. To keep them safe, to want nothing more than their wellbeing.
And while I had my reservations about Astoria pulling Beatrice away from me, I understood her. I understood her love for her children, her family.
She would have traded places with James in an instant if she could. I could feel it, watching her as she stood over his body. She called herself a villain, but she had no idea that I already wore that crown and had long since claimed the title. I bore her sins as if they were my own.
James had never cared for her, for their family. His attention was always on his mistress and the child she secretly carried. His final screams weren’t for Astoria or the children he had abandoned—they were for Mary.
If I had a heart, it might have shattered then.
But I didn't.
