“Not well.”
Bastien hands me a cup of tea and a bagel stuffed with chicken and avocado.I slope towards the table, but he stops me.
“What?”I ask as I pull out the chair to take a seat.I’m suddenly starving and exhausted and the fact he won’t let me eat this delicious smelling bagel he’s just handed me is irking me.
He brushes his thumb over my cheek; it’s strangely intimate.He runs his finger down to my chin and tilts it up so I’m looking straight at him.
“What?”I snap a little stroppier this time.
He glances to Lex, whose features are pulled into tight lines.“I see it too,” she says.
I knock his hand away and huff as I sit down.He takes a seat next to Lex; they’re both the other side of the table.I take a massive bite of bagel and moan.It’s so good.
“Is this an interview?Can’t you leave a girl in peace?”I say between chews of food.
“Are you okay?”Lex whispers.
My expression scrunches up.“Are you on necro-crack?Do I look fine?”
“Midnight… are.You.Okay?”Bastien says repeating Lex’s concern.
I’m not sure whether it’s the way they’re both staring at me, the concern filling his words with horror or the fact that every piece of me is exhausted.
A line of wet slides down my cheek.
“No, Bastien.I’m not fucking okay.Nothing about any of this is okay.”
They glance at each other.
“Oh my gods, will you just spit it out,” I say and shove another massive bite of bagel in.
“It’s just that you seem to be deteriorating,” Lex answers, but Bastien jumps in.
“We don’t mean just emotionally, either.You look super pale and just… I don’t know.”
I shrug.“I probably need to sleep.Ignatius has had me reaping souls for fifteen hour stretches.”
I inhale the last bite of bagel and thank them as I head to my room.No doubt Ignatius will send me moths tonight, but if I can get a few hours’ sleep before I have to work, I need to.They’re right, I do feel off.Out of sorts.
As I collapse on the bed, not even bothering to take my boots off, their questions worm into me.
Deteriorating.
It’s heavy as it settles in the back of my mind.
They’re right, I am so tired.A tired that isn’t just in your bones, it’s in your soul.
As I drift off, all thoughts of what’s wrong with me disappear into the warm embrace of sleep.
I’m woken to the stab of moth proboscises jabbing my wrists and neck and any other flesh they can get their parts on.
“Motherfuckers,” I groan as I slap random parts of me in the vain hope I can squash the bastards and avoid having to spend the rest of the night reaping.I’m not sure I even know what day it is.
My dreams were riddled with moths and reapings.I woke a dozen times because of the quakes and no doubt corresponding Veil cuts.
The clock on my bedside table reads 2:30 a.m.
“Fuck you, Ignatius,” I say and pluck one of the moths off my hand.It’s wing detaches.I gag and flick it off my finger like it’s on fire.
