Page 45 of Realm of the Wicked

‘How about a change of scenery, hm?’ I whispered, taking pity on the caterpillar still inching its way through the lettuce. Letting it crawl up my finger, I deposited it in the bed filled with carrots. ‘There. A little bit of change to keep you from going crazy.’

Another prison. A little bit bigger, maybe, but imprisonment all the same. If he was lucky, he’d never know the world he missed out on, everything he’d left behind by being in the carrots instead of the lettuce. All for a chance.

Agatha sighed. ‘It won’t always be this way.’

I kept my gaze trained on my caterpillar, refusing to look her way.

‘Eventually, the hurt will ease. You won’t think of your loved ones with the same kind of ache as you do now. The days here will feel like you’ve always been here. Like you were always supposed to be here.’

Unable to help myself, I looked over to Agatha, where she sat, watching me cautiously under that massive, pink sunhat. ‘Do you still remember your life before?’

She nodded. ‘My memories are different now, though. Like an old shirt that’s been through the wash one too many times. Soft and faded. It’s a favorite, but not one that’s comfortable to wear any more.’

‘I don’t want to forget Grace,’ I murmured, the tears already pooling in my eyes. ‘I don’t want to forget her smile, or her laugh. I want to remember how she looked when I surprised her, or the way she hated anything with spinach on it.’

‘Oh, Stella.’ Agatha’s voice was quiet and broken, her eyes saying all the words she couldn’t say out loud. After all, we were the only two people in a unique situation. ‘You won’t, honey. I promise, you won’t forget the important parts.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ I struggled to my feet, my legs numb from being folded up on the ground for too long. ‘Every day I’m here, I think I remember a little less of her. It’s harder to picture the exact color of her hair. I’m scared that soon, there will be nothing left of her, and that terrifies me, Agatha.’

I swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand, pushing back the tears threatening to fall. Agatha watched me quietly. I couldn’t be here. I didn’t want to be here, in my brightly colored prison, because at the end of the day, I was still alone. Agatha and Damien belonged here. But me… the Fringe didn’t fit quite right. Maybe it would fit better once Damien gave my soul to Hell. Maybe it never would.

I didn’t look back at Agatha as I turned and ran toward the house, and she let me go. The tears dripped freely now, pouring down my face as I remembered the last time I saw Grace. Surely, that couldn’t be the last time.

I wiped away the tears, stumbling up the stairs. If there was a way I could see her sooner, I’d take it. Unless…

Stella… we can help…

The Nihil had offered me a chance to see Grace. Damien seemed to think it was a terrible idea, but I had nothing to lose except a lifetime of loneliness and emptiness. Agatha would look after Archie if anything went wrong. The tears fell as I looked over to the corner where I’d seen the shadows before. I hadn’t noticed them since then, but I hadn’t been looking either. If they offered me a chance… I would be stupid not to take it. I took a step closer, and could’ve sworn I heard a whisper. Another step, and the whispering grew louder.

‘Stella? What are you doing?’

I whipped my head around to see Damien at the top of the stairs, giving me a curious look. Faltering, I sniffled and stumbled over my explanation. ‘I was… I was just…’

‘Are you crying?’ He left the stairs, closing the distance between us. ‘What happened? Are you hurt?’

I struggled to process his cold tone with his gentle words, and the way his hand reached out, almost of its own volition to swipe the moisture from my eye.

‘I’m not hurt.’

‘Why are you up here crying then? I heard you running through the halls. I thought something was wrong.’ Damien’s dark eyes were hard, almost worried. I didn’t know what to do with his emotions. Why would he be worried about me?

The images from the last time we were alone in the hall together came flooding back. The way he’d held me, as if I was something to be cherished and he had to hold himself back. His knee between my thighs, the exquisite pressure he gave me, telling me to use him.

And then my embarrassment. Kiss me.

Kiss me. As if he wasn’t wicked, and I wasn’t his captor. As if there was a universe in which we made sense.

My cheeks flushed. I would’ve kissed him without a second thought.

I still would.

‘Stella?’ Damien repeated, his cool voice shaking me from my reverie. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. Did something in the house hurt you? Tell me so I can fix it.’

I wasn’t sure he could fix me.

I shook my head, the words spilling out on a sob. ‘I’m fine. I’m just being stupid. I just… I miss Grace. I’m lonely. And I guess I just couldn’t push past the feeling that this was all my life was ever going to be now, and I didn’t know what to do with myself.’

Damien frowned. ‘I see.’