Chapter 3

He crouched at the cellar door and set the bowl of porridge and the healing tonic side by side on the floor.

"Emma."

He tapped on the door with his knuckles, barely making a sound. "Your stomach's bothering you, right? I found some tonic. Drink a little first, then eat the porridge."

I was floating about half a meter above his head, looking down at him.

The set of his shoulders, the white hairs at his temples catching the hallway light. He looked so much older than I remembered.

"Dad. I'm right here. I'm already gone. Open the door and look inside. Please."

He couldn't hear me.

After a while, no sound came from behind the door.

Dad sighed.

"Fine. Be angry all you want." His voice had gone rough. "Once tomorrow is over, Dad'll take you up to Silverleaf Town for mushroom cream noodles. That new place you've been talking about for ages."

His knees crackled as he stood, one hand against the wall. He turned the corner of the hallway and was gone.

I stayed there, looking at the bowl of honey-oat porridge and the little bottle of tonic on the floor.

"It's okay, Dad. You'll never get the chance to make that trip."

The hallway was quiet for about ten minutes. Then came Mom's footsteps, lighter than Dad's and more hesitant.

She stood at the door for a long time before crouching down, both hands wrung together like she didn't know where to put them.

"Emma. Mom knows you're upset."

"I know every hurt you've ever carried. I always have." She stared at the moss-stained wood of the door, one hand drifting absently to the curling edge of the frame, peeling at it. "But Elena's curse takes effect tomorrow. What am I supposed to do?"

I crouched in front of her. She was crying, not breaking down, just the kind of crying where someone's been holding it back so long the redness has soaked all the way in.

She sniffled, and then her voice suddenly picked up speed: "You always wanted your own room, right? After tomorrow, Elena's room can be yours. Mom will repaint the walls, hang those string lights you liked."

"And the art lessons. I looked into it. Starlight Academy runs a class in Silverleaf Town every Saturday, one term is three thousand. Mom's saved half already."

"And you're always complaining Mom never gave you a real birthday. You'll be fifteen next month. We can invite your friends over, get a big cake, three tiers—"

Her voice broke apart. Tears came hard and fast, hitting the stone floor in dark drops.

"Mom will make it all up to you, every single thing. So just get through tonight, okay? Just tonight."

I reached out, trying to catch her tears. My hand went through.

The door stayed silent.

Mom waited for a long time. Slowly, the guilt on her face got buried under a thin layer of something sharp.

She stood up fast, stepped back, fists clenched.

"What do you want from me!" she hissed, voice shrill and unsteady. "Elena is dying tomorrow. You're seriously going to sulk right now? She took the whole curse for you, and you can't even try to understand?"

She started shaking the moment the words were out. She covered her mouth and walked away, shoulders heaving.

The hallway emptied again.

The honey-oat porridge and the tonic were still sitting at the base of the door.

Dark fell fully.

In the living room, Mom sat at the coffee table with streamers and a bag of balloons in front of her. She'd blow one up, stop to blot her eyes, then blow another one. She was making decorations for Elena. They were hoping she'd still be alive to open her eyes and see them in the morning.

The doorbell rang. Dad answered.

Grandpa was standing at the door. He'd come from deep in the forest, carrying two pairs of vine-woven shoes and a pot of cream mushroom soup, my favorite.

"For Emma and Elena." He handed them over, his voice catching. "Drink the soup while it's warm. And the shoes, their grandmother made them before she passed. She wanted the girls to have them for their eighteenth birthdays."

"Dad, sit down, let me warm the soup." Mom's eyes reddened. She set down the half-inflated balloon.

"No rush."

Grandpa settled onto the sofa. His gaze swept the room: streamers half-hung, balloons scattered across the floor, Elena's door shut, the far end of the hallway dark.

He frowned.

"Where's Emma?"

Mom and Dad both went still at the same time.