Page 164 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
We walk the academy halls, the sconces dim and an alarm blaring. Students race by us, whispering about what happened in the ballroom.
“Was she really an Arcane?”
“I saw her red eyes.”
“But those things aren’t real.”
“You really believed that?”
Arcane.If Desdemona is an Arcane—
I must have misunderstood them.
Or Ma.
There are still unconscious students on the ballroom floor. None are dead. One lies next to a hand, instead of having it attached to his arm. My heart races, then Calista runs to a girl—Aralia.
Calista holds Aralia like what she used to be. Her dearest friend.
“She’s alive,” I let her know, moving my focus back to the bodies littering the floor. I wonder about Desdemona. All these unconscious kids were trying to ambush her—did they succeed?
It doesn’t seem like they did.
“She’s not waking up!” Calista cries from across the room.
“She will,” I assure her. “She needs rest—” I cut myself off as my eyes land on a blue beanie.
I blink, certainly mis-seeing.
As I open my eyes, the blue remains.
My entire world shrinks, until it is nothing but the dark fabric.
It’s real.
Who would wear a beanie to a ball?
I take tentative steps. Afraid if I make too much noise, a ripple will rearrange my reality. The boy in front of me will dissipate.
It has to be Azaire, in some way. Doesn’t it?
That’sAzaire.
I approach. I lean down. I begin to pull the beanie from the head of the boy. He must have snakes. He must be Azaire. Why else wear a beanie to a ball?
Slowly, I lift the beanie from the top of his head.
I am met only with brown hair.
Hair? Who would wear a beanie at a ball to coverhair?I laugh at the absurdity. I laugh so hard that I fall to my knees, clutching my stomach as it aches. A beanie. Who would wear… a blue… a beanie…
With one breath, the humor escapes me, leaving me with a feeling so wholly my own that there is nothing else to grasp onto.
He was supposed to come back.
Azaire wasn’t supposed to die.
Ma wasn’t supposed to die.
