forbade it when he was alive. He thought he was preserving
the Realm’s magic by keeping the human and fae worlds as separate as possible, but
that’s not the only reason I kept silent about them. The one time I tried to tell
a Sightless human about the fae, I ended up in a mental institution. That’s where
I met Paige. She hated Bedfont House as much as I did. She won’t want to go back.
I roll to my side, pulling my covers over my head.
“I think I’m crazy,” I tell Paige as I stare at the white wall across from my bed.
The counselors at Bedfont House leave it bare and encourage us to decorate it however
we want. I haven’t lifted a finger to do so. When I first arrived, I thought if I
put up a picture or poster, it would be like I’m admitting that I belong here. Now,
I’m thinking maybe I do. I haven’t seen any lightning-covered fae in more than three
weeks. Maybe I made them up. Maybe I made it all up.
“Everyone here is crazy,” Paige says, not looking away from her handheld mirror. Her
eyes are opened wide while she puts on glittery mascara. Her side of the room
is
decorated. She painted it black. How the hell she got a hold of black paint, nobody,
not even the staff, knows. They didn’t make her repaint it, and they’ve said nothing
about the posters of cemeteries and creepy old houses she’s put up. The wall is accented
with red: a scarf hanging near the door, a crimson teddy bear sitting on her dresser,
the bright silk pillow that’s between her and the wall at her back. She has bats in
her blond hair. Six of them. They’re tiny black clips with glitter on the wings.
We’ve been rooming together for two weeks now, and ifyou ask me, this whole Goth thing isn’t really her. I think she’s putting on a show
to screw with the staff.
I return to staring at my blank wall. In the corner of my vision, I see her put down
her mascara. She sits up, swinging her legs off the side of her bed so that she’s
facing me.
“Okay, fine,” she says, sounding impatient. “Why do you think you’re crazy?”
I frown. Did I say I was crazy? I can’t remember. My mind feels heavy, sluggish. The
white wall across from me is oppressively bright. It’s almost as hard to look at as
a fissure opening.
Ah, a fissure. The fae. That’s right. I
do
think I’m crazy. I hope I am, at least, because if I’m not, if the fae do exist and
I can see them and read their shadows, then I was taken advantage of. I helped Kyol
and his king hunt down the false-blood Thrain, and now that he’s dead, they’re through
with me.
Kyol’s
through with me, which means he never cared about me in the first place. None of
them did. I was just a tool to help them win their war.
My chest aches. I want to go back to their world. I want to be needed and important,
and I want to see more of the Realm, meet more of the fae. I want…
I want Kyol. If he’s real, I want him.
Paige’s bed squeaks when she stands. I hear her sigh then, a few seconds later, my
bed sinks as she sits beside me.
“Here,” she says, handing me a glass of water. “You should stop taking the meds.”
I stare at the water’s rippling surface. “They make me take them.”
“They make all of us take them,” she says. “They only watch us for five minutes afterward.
Go to the restroom and throw up. Most of it won’t make it into your system.”
I take a sip of water, then force myself to focus on her. It’s more difficult than
it should be. “That’s what you do?”
“Yeah. Ironic, isn’t it? I get thrown in here after downing a bottle of cold medicine
and here they are forcing pills down my throat. Now”—she takes back the glass and
sets it on my nightstand—“tell me. Why do you think you’re crazy?”
I haven’t told any of the other girls why my parents sent me here. I guess I’m sane
enough to know how crazy it sounds. The meds must really be messing with my judgment
the Realm’s magic by keeping the human and fae worlds as separate as possible, but
that’s not the only reason I kept silent about them. The one time I tried to tell
a Sightless human about the fae, I ended up in a mental institution. That’s where
I met Paige. She hated Bedfont House as much as I did. She won’t want to go back.
I roll to my side, pulling my covers over my head.
“I think I’m crazy,” I tell Paige as I stare at the white wall across from my bed.
The counselors at Bedfont House leave it bare and encourage us to decorate it however
we want. I haven’t lifted a finger to do so. When I first arrived, I thought if I
put up a picture or poster, it would be like I’m admitting that I belong here. Now,
I’m thinking maybe I do. I haven’t seen any lightning-covered fae in more than three
weeks. Maybe I made them up. Maybe I made it all up.
“Everyone here is crazy,” Paige says, not looking away from her handheld mirror. Her
eyes are opened wide while she puts on glittery mascara. Her side of the room
is
decorated. She painted it black. How the hell she got a hold of black paint, nobody,
not even the staff, knows. They didn’t make her repaint it, and they’ve said nothing
about the posters of cemeteries and creepy old houses she’s put up. The wall is accented
with red: a scarf hanging near the door, a crimson teddy bear sitting on her dresser,
the bright silk pillow that’s between her and the wall at her back. She has bats in
her blond hair. Six of them. They’re tiny black clips with glitter on the wings.
We’ve been rooming together for two weeks now, and ifyou ask me, this whole Goth thing isn’t really her. I think she’s putting on a show
to screw with the staff.
I return to staring at my blank wall. In the corner of my vision, I see her put down
her mascara. She sits up, swinging her legs off the side of her bed so that she’s
facing me.
“Okay, fine,” she says, sounding impatient. “Why do you think you’re crazy?”
I frown. Did I say I was crazy? I can’t remember. My mind feels heavy, sluggish. The
white wall across from me is oppressively bright. It’s almost as hard to look at as
a fissure opening.
Ah, a fissure. The fae. That’s right. I
do
think I’m crazy. I hope I am, at least, because if I’m not, if the fae do exist and
I can see them and read their shadows, then I was taken advantage of. I helped Kyol
and his king hunt down the false-blood Thrain, and now that he’s dead, they’re through
with me.
Kyol’s
through with me, which means he never cared about me in the first place. None of
them did. I was just a tool to help them win their war.
My chest aches. I want to go back to their world. I want to be needed and important,
and I want to see more of the Realm, meet more of the fae. I want…
I want Kyol. If he’s real, I want him.
Paige’s bed squeaks when she stands. I hear her sigh then, a few seconds later, my
bed sinks as she sits beside me.
“Here,” she says, handing me a glass of water. “You should stop taking the meds.”
I stare at the water’s rippling surface. “They make me take them.”
“They make all of us take them,” she says. “They only watch us for five minutes afterward.
Go to the restroom and throw up. Most of it won’t make it into your system.”
I take a sip of water, then force myself to focus on her. It’s more difficult than
it should be. “That’s what you do?”
“Yeah. Ironic, isn’t it? I get thrown in here after downing a bottle of cold medicine
and here they are forcing pills down my throat. Now”—she takes back the glass and
sets it on my nightstand—“tell me. Why do you think you’re crazy?”
I haven’t told any of the other girls why my parents sent me here. I guess I’m sane
enough to know how crazy it sounds. The meds must really be messing with my judgment
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