It was the thousand and seventh night. When he rolled off me, dawn had not yet broken.I reached for the back of my neck. Bare. Nothing there.He had bitten my shoulder, my collarbone, my wrist.For a thousand and seven nights, he had avoided the one spot at the back of my neck reserved for a Luna's mark.It was a constant reminder that he wanted only the face that bore a faint resemblance to Celine, not me."Go to the east court after dawn," he said, buckling his belt.My hand stilled. Only then did I nod. "Okay."A room in the east court had been locked for three years. On the fifteenth of every month, I had to go inside.I carried the clothes into the courtyard one piece at a time, aired them in the sun all day, then hung them back up before dark.They were Celine's clothes. I had counted them: 47 pieces in total.I had spent three years here, taking care of a dead woman's clothes.He came to the east court that afternoon while I was putting the last piece away.It was white, with a
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