December 2018
Each day, the moon still hung, and the stars still shone. The earth continued its lazy trek around the sun and time moved on. I don’t know what I expected. As if the world would suddenly stop all because of the rupture betweenus.
It was past seven in the evening, and I laid in bed, wondering if I could spend the rest of my life here, safely tucked beneath the sheets. Day left me at a hotel, just like I’d asked him to, even though he had been hesitant. He sorted the room out for me as I cried on the curb, watching couples stumble out of the pub next door—joy and love plastered across their faces as they walked along the river, heading home. That was almost nine days ago.
London was busy and vibrant. So much life happened around me as I sulked. Did rolling from one side of the bed to the otherto reach the remote count as anything for the day? I supposed not.
Day appeared at meal times, bringing me food, leaving it on the table nearby.
I did not eat. He did not speak.
My sadness permeated even my best friend’s presence. Every hour or so I found new things to cry over, the biggest being that I couldn’t take Reaper and I hadn’t even stopped to hug him goodbye. The smallest but most recent being that I forgot my basket. My only trophy of success.
Making sense of what Grim did was like staring into murky water, thinking that if I concentrated hard enough, it would clear. Death was not kind, nor was he compassionate. But he never pretended to be. It was I who blurred the lines of what he truly was.
He wore sorrow as a second skin, anger like armor. Bitterness was his only friend; pain, his most faithful lover. And I was the fool who thought my love could tame him. But tell me, which is worse? The villain who did not hide the darkness he carried, or the hero who weaved pretty lies, hoping good deeds might erase the blood on their hands?
Like calls to like,I thought bitterly.
Could I blame him? Even when I believed the cost of my gift was the death of another, I chose the same path over and over and over again.
Rolling over, my eyes landed on the bag I’d thrown onto the sofa. Its contents had spilled out and my things scattered like the pieces of me I was still trying to gather—fragments of a girl who’d believed too hard in promises, in people, in love.
The folded letter from my father that I kept hidden in a sleeve had fallen from its box, now lying atop the sweater I’d stolen from Grim. Whatever apology it held didn’t matter anymore. Truthfully, it had never mattered.
But now? Now that the illusion had shattered, and the truth had bled out and left me hollow, what was there to lose? Grim had taken what was left of me.
Bitterness pushed my feet to the floor, forcing my hands to snatch up my father’s letter and peel it out of the sleeve. One hundred and forty-seven years I’ve carried this piece of paper. If it was as worthless as I’d always considered it to be, why was I still hanging on to it? Without batting an eye, I unfolded it, my nose crinkled in anger as I read the ink.
Astoria Devlin,
Forgive me. I cannot bear to leave you, and yet your mother forbids me from remaining near. I fear the curse is more real than I had ever imagined, and for that, I am most grieved. I would have stayed… Tempest curse or no.
That is my burden to bear, not yours, nor your mother’s.
I cannot pretend to understand the suffering that awaits you upon your two-and-twentieth birthday, and if I am not permitted to stand at your side, then there is something you must know. When your mother chose the name Devlin, it was intended as a warning. She wished only to shield your heart. Yet there lies another meaning still. Devlin signifies not merely ill fortune, but also the fierce virtue of courage.
You must be courageous, child, whether your curse demands much of you or nothing at all. There shall be an end to it, and I believe you are destined to bring it about. Let perseverance be your companion.
As for Astoria, that is my mother’s name. A woman who has endured more than most. She and my father share a singular tale, one I pray they may share with you in time. Named for the heavens, she reflects their vastness and mystery; bright, beautiful, a force unto herself. It is my great honour to bestow her name upon you.
I ought not to ask this of you, but it would gladden my heart beyond measure to meet you. I am returning home to Sussex, where my family has resided for generations. I shall not leave again, for it would be the greatest joy of my life to wait, however long it may take, to meet you, my beloved daughter.
I love you, Astoria Devlin Reeves. Forever and beyond. Give Lucy my love, she was my beginning and my end. You both…my world.
All my love, August Reeves
A dull ache bloomed in the pit of my stomach. My chin quivered as I clutched the letter to my chest, pressing it against a heart too late for answers. I should have opened it sooner. I could have met him. He wanted to meet me,he wanted to know me.
His name slipped past my lips, fragile as a prayer, soft as a wound. I whispered it again, letting it linger on my tongue, like a blessing I hadn’t known I was missing.
“Reeves,” I breathed, tasting the word, wondering if it might finally tether me.
Astoria Devlin Reeves.
A name that suddenly became my armor and an anchor, all at once.
My mind spun with everywhat if. Had August married? Did I have siblings I didn’t know? Would they have helped me break my curse? Would my mother have gone with me if she’d known there was another way?
