Page 134 of Whisper of Nightmares

So wicked.

And she does not belong here in this room full of hope and celebration.

Euphemia flashes Kelda a fragile smile. “I’ll go get us some tea. Maybe that will help him speak.”

Kelda pats her hand. “Yes. Good idea. Thank you, Euphemia.”

And without another word, Euphemia staggers out of the room.

The walls sway as she walks through them, a hollow ache gutting her.

This Dagfinn did not know her. She is certain.

Which begs the question: had she been delirious the whole time? Conjuring some false version of the husband she is bound to, just to soothe her at night? It is not lost on her that she could not see the beastly man’s face until after she saw Dagfinn in the tower. Was it all just in her mind?

Staggering into the kitchen, Euphemia slams her fists upon the stone table.

Her bones cry out in agony.

Her heart battered and bruised.

How could she be so foolish? How could she have fallen prey to her own mind’s wicked machinations?

It had all been a dream. Every time she met him. None of it had been real.

Euphemia truly is losing her mind then.

Tears sting her cheeks as she sets to work brewing the tea.

In time, as the water begins to boil and the scent of herbs fill the room, there is comfort to be had here. Being of service to others while she herself is unraveling feels all too much like home. It reminds her of the days she spent hiding her darkest fears from the ones she called family. And here she is doing the same.

It’s habit by now.

It would feel so natural to slip back into that version of herself.

And yet…

Now that she has glimpsed what it might be like to be truly and unapologetically herself, the thought of returning to anything less is shattering. Like she’s splitting herself in two and casting the better half to the cold depths of the sea.

She practices the smile, the kettle rattling on the tray as she moves about the manor.

By the time she returns to Dagfinn’s tower, Euphemia has mustered enough of a cheerful disposition that she’s hopeful no one will notice how forced it is.

She swings the chamber door open, preparing to enter the same space she left.

But on the other side of the door, Dagfinn is standing.

Her heart leaps.

Her grip on the tray falters.

Releases.

The tray starts to fall.

The steaming kettle and pewter cups lean.

Dagfinn lurches forward.