Page 76 of Till Death and Daisies Bloom

Everything about it was loud. The colors, the sounds, the chaos of too many thoughts all trying to happen at once. It was exhausting, and not in the charming, dramatic sense people used when they said things like "I'm exhausted!" after an hour of socializing. No, I meant real exhaustion. The kind that wrapped around your bones and made every breath feel like a negotiation with gravity.

So, when Gluttony stormed out of the manor in one of his fussy moods, I knew today was going to be hell.

I hadn’t yet met or even seen this witch that had turned my brothers’ lives upside down...and that was just fine with me. I had enough people in my life already, thank you very much.

I settled deeper into the velvet armchair by the window, book in hand, blanket cocooned around me.

G would come home eventually and regale me with whatever drama had unfolded—maybe some tears, maybe another broken door. Either way, I could nap through the chaos.

Until the wards chirped.

Low danger. Small breach.

I groaned. Probably some mortal Jehovah’s Witness again. The new wards were supposed to redirect those types straight to Envy's doorstep.

Still, I stood. My limbs protested with every step, muscles cramping in rebellion. I shuffled barefoot across the marble floor, through the back doors, and into the garden. The ping had come from the outer perimeter.

And that’s when I heard it.

A sound that made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t like—a thin, wheezing cry.

I was moving before my brain caught up, sluggish but determined. I followed the sound through the woods, out where an old brick barn lay crumbling into the eons of time. It used to be a gatehouse, or something.

There was movement from inside, and a small sound, like a trapped animal.

The wards had indicated human presence.

“Hello?” I called out.

I slipped between the bricks and debris, wincing at the sharp scrape of stone against my elbow. And then I saw her.

A child.

A faerie child.

Tiny, crumpled beneath a broken wooden shelf. One wing bent at an angle that made my own spine ache in sympathy.

Something twinged in my chest.

My great-grandmother had been a faerie.

I shoved that aside. Focus. Faerie children were rare. Like, born-once-a-generation rare. They were guarded, hidden, practically sheltered underground by their people.

Which meant if this one was here …

Her parents were probably dead. Or worse.

“You okay?” I asked, crouching beside her.

She shook her head, eyes wide and wet. Purple—amethyst, actually. Her curls were streaked with dust, her skin streaked with blood. Her tiny mouth quivered as she tried to speak but couldn’t.

“Well, that sucks,” I muttered. “Let’s fix it.”

I reached for the shelf.

It burned.

Gods, it burned.

---