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“I needed magic.”
It seemed so childish and weak, even as it reminded me of all I once was—the old Eden who’d been happy, who’d felt at home, who hadn’t purposefully resorted to stealing. But my suspension had changed everything and brought me to my lowest point, and now Darius knew how far I’d fallen. Somehow, he was the one person from whom I wanted to hide all I’d become.
I didn’t want to see his response to my confession. I was afraid he’d pull away his soothing warmth I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed until I was bathed in it once again. It was like basking in the summer sun after an endless, bitter winter.
To my surprise his eyes softened. A flicker of the old Darius glistened in his look. “You could have just asked.”
What did he mean? He would have given me some of his powers, something my own Mother had refused to do? “You’d have given me magic?”
“Of course.” His countenance hardened once more. “You didn’t have to steal it. I never would have thought it possible of the Eden I knew.”
I looked away. “That Eden is dead.”
“No, she’s not. You’ve just chosen to bury her.” He pulled away, taking his intoxicating warmth with him and leaving me cold and empty once more. He surveyed me as if I were a complicated weaving pattern he was trying to decipher. I twisted and untwisted the fold of my black dress as I breathlessly awaited his assessment.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re more glittery than the last time I saw you. Did you fall into an entire batch?”
A strange sound escaped my dry throat, a half laugh, half sob. Those were the words he’d spoken to me at our first Weaving, the day we’d become a partnership. He allowed himself to smile at my response and reached out to gently press against the corner of my lifted mouth. I shuddered at his touch, and with it I felt the iciness encasing my frozen heart slowly begin to thaw.
“Ah, there’s a glimpse of my Eden’s smile. I knew the real you was buried in there somewhere.” His own smile faltered as he tilted his head to study me, his emerald gaze taking me in from head to toe. “This new style of yours...it’s not really you, is it? I confess I was quite startled when I saw you’d changed it.”
Heat filled my cheeks. “Of course it’s me.”
He rested his chin on his fist, a thoughtful pucker filling his brow as he perused me. “It’spartlyyou—the glitter, the star and moon hair clips, the painted stars on your cheek.” He reached out and traced each of the stars with his fingertip, and once more I shuddered at his contact. “But at the same time it’s not the Eden I know. It’s too...dark.”
I scowled. “Spoken by the Nightmare who wears all black and covers himself with spiderwebs.”
“This has been me from the beginning, whereas that has never been you. It’s like you’re wearing a mask to play a part chosen for you, while at the same time your costume is enough of you so that you haven’t lost yourself completely.”
My breath hooked, even as my heart lifted. Despite my attempts to hide away any portion of the old Eden, he’d effortlessly realized the motives I’d kept safely guarded within the sheltered chambers of my soul. Before I could respond he spoke again, still in that tender way of his that stirred life within my previously hardened heart.
“You don’t appear to like it yourself.”
“Of course I do,” I lied hastily, never mind the effort was pointless.
“If you don’t like it,” he continued gently, “then why did you change it?”
I cycled through all the reasons I could possibly give him, none of which were particularly convincing. I lowered my eyes. “Mother thought it would help me let go, even when I didn’t want to.”
“So you did it for her rather than for yourself?” His tone was disapproving but still patient and full of understanding, as if he knew my heart perfectly.
I shrugged helplessly. “Does it matter?”
“It should matter to you. It matters to me. A Weaver’s style is a reflection of who they feel they are.” His frown deepened as he continued to study me in that all-too-knowing way of his. “Ah, that’s why you did it. You truly believe this is the new you.”
I folded my arms across myself in a feeble attempt to protect myself from more of his far too accurate analysis. I didn’t want him to uncover my buried secrets to poke and prod them; they needed to remain locked away where they belonged.
It was better not to understand myself, better not to feel, for if I didn’t understand or feelanythingthen I wouldn’t be forced to try to make sense of everything that had happened to me when I’d been utterly powerless to stop it. My helplessness was just as painful to experience as the constant fear and pain I’d been battling to suppress ever since my suspension. Fitting into this new world was my protection, the only way I could regain some control over the injustice that had been dealt me.
“Thisisthe new me,” I said stiffly. “I didn’t ask you to like it.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You think I don’tlikeit? Is it possible for me to dislike anything about you? This isn’t about whatIlike but about whatyoulike. Yet despite you clearly hating it, you’re still forcing yourself to fit an image that you’re not.”
“You’re wrong,” I snapped. “I’m not forcing anything. This is the true Eden.” The lie almost felt more true the more I spoke it.
“I know you, Eden, and this isnotyou.”
The intensity filling his eyes and his words caused my breath to hitch. Did he truly believe that? Hope lit within me before I forced myself to smother it...and yet the months of believing otherwise caused my doubts to linger. “You’re wrong. This is me.”
