Page 122 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
Selene strokes his hair, slow and deliberate, as if she can soothe away the poison with sheer will. “You’re staying,” she whispers. “You promised me.”
His fingers twitch against her waist. “I did.”
She presses a kiss to his forehead, ignoring the heat beneath her lips. “Then you’d better keep your word.”
But Dorian is already slipping away again, his hand going slack in hers.
The door creaks open, and Aunt Elizabeth steps inside, her skirts whispering against the floor. She exhales sharply, asif bracing herself, and then moves forward, her keen eyes sweeping over Dorian’s pale form.
Selene looks up from where she sits on the bed beside him. “Aunt Elizabeth,” she says quietly.
“My dear,” Elizabeth replies, her voice softer than usual. “How has he been?”
Selene swallows. “No better. No worse. He woke for a little while.” She looks down at Dorian’s face, shadowed and too still, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. “He was aware. He knew how bad it was.”
Elizabeth nods grimly and steps closer. She reaches out, her fingers hovering just above his brow before finally pressing against his damp skin. “Burning,” she murmurs. “The fever’s holding on, then.”
Selene nods. “Have you seen Ariella?”
“Still sleeping,” Elizabeth tells her. “I think Rookwood gave her something. Not that he’s resting, either. He’s with her now.”
Momentary envy flashes over Selene at the idea of the two of them, healthy and well, curled up somewhere together. It passes quickly.
Elizabeth sighs, settling into the chair at Dorian’s bedside. “You’ve been here all night, haven’t you?”
Selene doesn’t answer.
Elizabeth reaches out, covering Selene’s hand with her own. “You should step out for a moment, my dear. Refresh yourself. You’ll do him no good if you collapse from exhaustion.”
Selene’s grip tightens around Dorian’s limp hand. “I don’t want to leave him.”
Elizabeth’s gaze softens. “Just for a little while. Trust me, I won’t let him out of my sight.”
Selene hesitates. But the truth is, she’s exhausted and desperately needs to relieve herself. She nods reluctantly andleans over, pressing a kiss to Dorian’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon,” she whispers.
She stands, squeezing Elizabeth’s hand before stepping away. As she reaches the door, she glances back. Elizabeth leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper as she strokes Dorian’s hair.
“I’ve never had a son,” she murmurs, “but I have loved you like my own since the day you came into this world, and all the more when your dear mother quit it. I am not meant to watch you die, boy, so you are not to die, do you hear? If not for me, then do it for your pretty wife next door. The poor girl has known enough sadness. If you put either of us through any more, I’m going to be quite put out.”
Selene presses a hand to her lips, tears stinging her eyes, and slips away.
Selene takes the shortest of breaks before returning to Dorian’s side. Aunt Elizabeth talks to her for a while—mostly of nothing in particular. Events in the village, the weather, stories from Dorian’s childhood. It feels strange to talk of anything ordinary, but it helps—at least for a little while. Dorian sleeps between them, murmuring occasionally. Selen does her best to keep him cool, offering him sips of whatever whenever she can and keeping a tight hold of his good hand.
“Aunt Elizabeth,” she starts eventually, when the silence has stretched on for too long. “I hope you don’t mind, but I overheard you talking to Dorian earlier—”
“Why would I mind if you know how much I love my nephew?”
“That’s… that’s a fair point,” Selene concedes. “I just… you said I’d known enough sadness, and I’m just… I was wondering how you knew that? I’ve never said—”
Elizabeth offers her a warmth, sympathetic smile. “I know what a woman looks like when a man has squeezed something out of her,” she admits. “I heard rumours about your impending marriage to Duke Drakefell before your elopement. He did something to you, didn’t he?”
“He did,” Selene reveals, her breath catching. “He did, but I… but it wasn’t—”
It wasn’t what you think. It wasn’t what anyone thinks. He didn’t hurt me, he didn’t force himself on me, he didn’t do anything but—
But slowly scrape me away from myself. He broke me away inch by inch, ground me into powder, rubbed me into a sliver of the person I was before—
And he did all that before he killed her. Murder barely mattered next to all of that.
