Page 121 of Her Dark Promise

“Emilia?” My head was clearing slightly, but not enough to register what she was saying. “Circe, don’t be silly. I don’t want you upset with me any longer. I am sorry.” Tears continued to stream down my face. “I was just scared. Don’t leave me.” The last three words came out in a sob.

Circe smiled down at me and replied, “I would never leave you. Please, stop crying.” She patted my hand gently. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

I settled back down as I looked around the room at all of their faces. Everyone I loved was in this room. I tried to stay awake for as long as possible—I never wanted to leave.

But, my eyes grew heavy, and I allowed sleep to take me once more.

I could barely hear someone say, “Emilia said that part of the symptoms of belladonna poisoning is hallucinations. Let’s take our leave.”

There was nothing.

Pure silence.

The same silence that wrapped its barbed blanket around me since that day. I couldn’t show Annabelle how broken I had become, and prayed that she couldn’t see me from Heaven. I was meant to protect and shield her from the cruelty of the world, but I failed.

The anger was instant. Enveloping me in a burning rage that never truly burned out, no matter how hard I tried. My only constant, besides Circe. For centuries, I allowed the pain to control me. And when the pain became too unbearable, I would destroy all that was in my path. Do my best to breathe through the pain of losing my parents, people, sister—my entire world.

Though Belle’s death hit me differently. When she died, I felt as if I had died right alongside her. Nothing was left of me besides pure, undiluted rage. Rage toward Circe. I remember screaming into the world all of the despair I felt at losing such a pure soul. It wasn’t fair that she died, and I was cursed to live in a place that would be a constant reminder of what I allowed to happen. I was so close to her moments ago, that I just wanted it back.

My mind tricked me again, sending me plunging into another memory.

Emilia was young, sitting around the table in the library. I had been reading to her every night to get her to sleep. It always worked in the beginning. She’d slumber for hours and then wake up screaming. Tonight, she couldn’t be swayed back to sleep.

“What is this?” Her voice was hoarse, a breathy gasping thing. She stared down at the tea, steaming and warm in her small hands. She’d only been with me for a month now, and was still hesitant over my orders. It was strange trying to care for her. She was stubborn and small, and so very burdened by the haunting things that happened to her—how she ended up nearly dead in the woods. I shuddered at the image, still burned into my mind. I reached for her hand to steady it, but she retracted it and placed it in her lap.

“I will not touch you,” I told her warmly. “Nobody will touch you again. The tea is lavender…it will calm you. I added some honey.”

A moment of silence passed between us, where she still hesitated, then finally took a small sip. Then another, and another.

“The nightmares will get worse before they get better,” I said, watching her eyes drop to the tea, staring at the honey alongthe edge of the cup. “The days will get better first. You will feel comfort in the skies, trees, and earth. Nature is very healing.”

Her eyes blinked slowly, and though she said nothing, I knew she was taking it in. “Eventually, you will look forward to the days that the nights will be quicker, less painful.”

“How long will you…” her voice broke a moment. “Keep me?”

My heart ached at the words. “You are free to leave when you wish…should you wish it.”

“I don’t want to,” she mouthed.

“I do not have much,” I reasoned with her. “I cannot give you what your family gave you.”

She shook her head at the mention of it. “No family, not anymore.”

I swallowed and urged her to drink more of the tea. “I don’t have one either. We’re better off without them. If we don’t have anyone to love, we do not have anyone to lose. You see?”

She nodded in understanding.

“I will teach you how to use your hands to communicate with me. I have many books on how, and we shall learn together.”

Another nod.

“When you are strong and ready, you can leave…but not a moment too soon.”

She finished her tea over the next few minutes, and I walked her back to bed, but she stopped me halfway and directed me back to the library. There, on a chaise, she asked to sleep with my father’s worn and tattered blanket. I waited with her, long into the night. She opened her eyes often to check I hadn’t left.

“Sleep, child,” I’d tell her, and she’d drift away again.

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