Page 187 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“I—I,” I shudder a breath. Bernice walks past me, to Nova.

She’s stopped screaming.

“You’re a monster!” he shouts.

“I—”

“This is what the Nepenthe would do!”

“I didn’t mean to?—”

“You’re no better than them. I wish you left when you said you would!”

“I’m sorry?—”

“You’re a killer! A monster! And I hate you! I’ll hate you forever!”

“Berny, I?—”

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” he shrieks.

“Stop it,” I cry.

“You’re a monster. You knew you could hurt people! You said you didn’t want to! You knew your mom was right and you did it anyway!”

“Bernice—”

“She knew you were a monster! That’s why she told you not to use your magic! She knew what you are!”

“Stop it!” This time I shout.

I feel so much hatred. The rage closes around my heart and pierces every bit of sympathy I have, bleeding me dry.

For half a second, Bernice’s pupils are on fire, then he falls to his knees. The shock of it sends me tumbling back, but I don’t move. Instinct tells me to shout for my mom, but when I try the words don’t leave my mouth. I’m trying to look away from Bernice, but I’m looking at his body as it falls forward and my own burns.

Killing him, I’m killing him. I’m both aware of it and entirely confused about what is happening. The trees around me catch fire, like in the dreams, and I run, like in the dreams.

This time when I call my mom, the words finally escape my mouth. I run into her arms, like in the dreams, and she tells me to put the fire out, like in the dreams.

“What happened?” she says, holding onto my arms.

“Bernice,” I cry. “I think he’s dead, Mommy.”

Mom grabs my hand, saying, “Show me where.” My hand is a quarter of her size.

We walk together in utter silence while sobs rack through me, stopping over Bernice and Nova’s very dead bodies. Mom’s hand goes stiff in mine, and I can feel my fear pumping adrenaline into my blood.

She reaches down and puts her fingers on his pulse without looking at me. I don’t remember this part of the dream. She looks up at me like I am a stranger. An evil, volatile, malevolent stranger.

“Is he dead?” I squeak.

I can’t say anything more.

Mom shakes her head, her eyebrows creasing together and her mouth curling in disgust. She hates me. I know this irrevocably. This is the face of hatred.

This is the look I think I’ve always feared.

“Is he dead?” I ask.

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