The Luna on a Chain
Just let me see you again, cursed wolf—next time, herbs alone won’t save you.
Toward evening, Maya called.
“Vera, how are you?” Her voice was hoarse and tired—she clearly wasn’t feeling as good as I was.
“I’m fine. You don’t sound great, though.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “I never thought two glasses of wine could hit this hard.”
“I think it was more than two,” I laughed.
She made a faint sound that barely resembled a chuckle. She was clearly in no condition for jokes. After a few more minutes, we promised to meet later that week—just the two of us.