THAM!—The door slammed shut. Nora's body sank into the mattress—a new sheet, crisp and deceptively white—stained yellow where her wet clothes had soaked through. Connor towered over her.
"I died for her," fingers twisting in her hair to wrench her face upward. "I cut my own throat, let maggots feast on my brothers—all to spare her dignity. And her reward?" His free hand struck the wall beside her head. "Who?"
"I worked like a dog. Barked for the Dawn. For her. All these years. I killed countless. For her! Yet, she never glanced at me once!" he barked in her face.
Nora's broken lip curled. "Maybe you weren't worth remembering; less to look at."
PLAP! His palm cracked across her face, snapping her head sideways. She laughed, blood smearing the sheets. "Does it hurt?" she spat. "Knowing you are worthless? Forgettable. Invisible."
PLAP! He backhanded her, snapping her head the other way. Her temple struck the iron headboard, stars exploding in her vision. Connor seized her chin, tilting her face toward his. "No," he whispered. "You stole her from me. But when I strip Dawn's pride from your bones, you will become her. My Ilaria. Forever!"
Nora spat in his face.
He recoiled, then laughed. "Good. Fight. It'll make the breaking sweeter."
He shoved her onto the mattress, her body sinking into the too-soft sheets. He pressed himself on top of her, his nose pressed against her ear, and took in a long, hard sniff of her hair. She shrieked at his weight.
SCREEEEE—the bed moaned. He shoved her down as he rose.
For a moment, his mask cracked—exhaustion hollowed his eyes, his shoulders sagging under years of madness. Then he straightened, smoothing his shirt with shaking hands as if her scent had stabilized him somehow.
"Rest, little dawnling," he said, turning to the door. "We have many days ahead of us."
The door slammed shut.
Silence filled the room. Nora cried until her eyelids grew heavy, and exhaustion pulled her into a dark, dreamless sleep.
Scruff-Scruff-Scruff-Scruff-Scruff...
She woke up to the rough scrap of cloth against her thigh.
"No," she whispered.
Connor's hand covered her mouth, his weight pressing her head into the mattress. She thrashed, but her wrists were already tied to the bed frame. "Shhh," he crooned, dipping the cloth into a basin of murky water. "You're too good for filth."
He rubbed the cloth over her jutted collarbone. She arched her back, hissing as the heat stung her cuts. Connor frowned and scrubbed harder. "You'll thank me later," he said with a shaky voice. "Can't have you rotting… not with that face. You will not ruin her face. Never!"
She spat in his face.
He paused, water dripping from his stubbled jaw. He licked the spit—then laughed and dragged the cloth down her ribs. "Still got fire in you. Good. Fire burns sweets just like the cake she used to bake."
The water turned pink as he worked, polishing her like marble: fingers splayed to stretch her skin tight, scrubbing every scar, every bruise until her flesh glowed raw. When he reached her thighs, she shut her eyes, focusing on the sound of water dripping somewhere.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
"Look at me," he ordered.
She didn't.
He grabbed her jaw, forcing her head sideways. He held up a healing potion. "Open."
She clenched her teeth.
He clicked his tongue and squeezed her jaw until pain forced it open. The liquid poured in; it stung her tongue. She gagged, but he held her throat until she swallowed.
Heat spread through her stomach, winding through her veins. Her cuts itched as they healed, bruises fading like ink washed away by rain. When it was done, her skin was unmarred—smooth, fair, and perfect.
Connor leaned in, his nose kissing her cheek. "There," he murmured. "Now you're her again."
Nora stared past him at the water-stained ceiling. "I'm not her."
He grabbed her chin, turning her face to his. His eyes were distant, unfocused. "You will be."
The ropes loosened as he stood. Nora didn't move, even as the door slammed shut. Light from the cracked window spilled over her body—pristine, trembling, like a doll waiting to be broken again.
Somewhere outside, the basin tipped over. Water seeped into the soil, carrying away the filth he had scrubbed off her.
Nora curled onto her side, pressing her new flawless cheek to the pillow.
Sleep, she told herself. The rot always comes back.
—
Darkness covered everything—no moon, no stars, just a suffocating void. Nora gripped the windowsill, glass shards biting into her palms. She sucked in a deep breath and swung her legs over the edge, ignoring the sharp pain as the jagged frame sliced her stomach. Blood ran warm and silent down her thigh. Not a sound.
Crunch. Her bare feet landed on dead leaves. She froze, listening. Only the distant roar of the waterfall answered.
Step by step, she moved toward the stream, arms stretched out, feeling her way through the dark. The cold water shocked her ankles; its current tugged at her legs. Every rock, every branch, threatened to betray her. Her light magic was gone—useless—leaving her stranded in the dark.
She let the current guide her. Sharp rocks cut open her soles. The cold water stung. She didn't flinch, didn't whisper. She continued until the sound of the waterfall grew loud.
Nora knelt at the cliff's edge, her hands searching for holds on the slippery rock. She lowered herself slowly, her toes testing ledges that crumbled under her weight. Three steps down, her foot slipped. Gravity seized her, and her body lurched. She swung wildly, whispering prayers, even though she did not know which gods to pray to.
SPLOSH!—She plummeted.
The pond swallowed her scream, freezing her lungs. She fought to the surface, gasping, her limbs numb. She swam toward the shore. Too loud. Too slow.
Connor's pen scratched across the paper, steady as a heartbeat. His study walls are lined with soggy books and maps marked with decades of futile searches. The splash outside rattled the walls.
He paused, tilted his head, and smiled.