early in the morning and would be leaving Izzy in Aester’s care until I arrived.
Aester who has a schedule and is expected back at the sanctuary for a lesson before evening comes.
Why did I agree to this?
Because Peter was supposed to be here.
I wasn’t supposed to be alone.
“Tinksley!” My mother starts again, all but knocking my door off its hinges from the force of her banging. “Let’s go, get up! You’re not going to—”
“I’m going!” I snap back, forcing myself up from the comfort and safety of my pillows and sheets.
“Jesus Christ, finally,” she mumbles before disappearing down the hall.
Just sitting up proves I’ve been glued to this bed for far too long. Everything aches in protest, muscles sore and tight in places I didn’t even know existed. I’ve only gotten up to relieve myself, to grab the occasional glass of water and a piece of fruit when my stomach constricted from lack of nutrition.
But why, Tinksley? How could you allow this? How could you spiral this fast, this deep? Over a boy?
Because waking up to that note, after what I thought was a turning point for us—a positive one nonetheless—broke me. It broke me into pieces, cemented the fact that everyone and everything was right all along. That Peter was never meant to be my everything, and yet, my heart had lead me to believe he was.
I was all in, and he didn’t even have half his leg in the door. Always ready to skip out. Apparently, waiting for the right moment, too.
Ends up taking me almost two hours to make myself look presentable enough to venture out into the public. Mama fusses over me, relentlessly reminding me I’m a strong, young woman who doesn’t need a man to carry on, but I ignore her.
I’m not strong, not by any means. In fact, I’m weaker than I’ve ever been.
Despaired.
Useless.
Damaged.
Broken.
Peter’s gone—the same two words that have haunted me day in and day out, scream my reality louder as I walk blindly through the forest. It’s beautifully sunny out, I’ll admit that much, but it’s such a drastic contrast to the torment radiating through my body that it’s nothing more than an idle observation.
One that comes and goes before I myself can dismiss it.
I’m too busy taking note of every spot Peter and I crossed together. An awful idea because as the memories flood me, I shatter that much more, adding another handful of jagged, fragmented pieces of my heart to the now gaping hole in my chest.
Tearing through me, filling the flood gates to what feels like capacity.
This is why I didn’t want to leave my home. To leave the refuge of my bed. Because everything is a reminder of him. Rosewood is a reminder of him, period. At least in my bed, though we shared memories there too, I can close my eyes and escape it all.
Distant yelling suddenly draws my attention out of my thoughts. Like a tunnel, I’m sucked out from its depths and placed firmly into the here and now. Just several feet away stands the sign for Silver Sanctuary—the lush, magical acreage of the witches domain. The sanctuary itself is where they practice, a beautiful temple-like structure nestled within this lavish, abundant garden, and the huddle is where they all reside; huts and cabins alike situated within close range.
The commotion seems to be coming from the huddle, drawing me toward it with careful steps.
What is happening?
“Not here!” A woman bellows.
“Not here, either!” Another adds.
It’s semi-controlled chaos, bodies rushing around, searching high and low. What are they—
“Tinksley!” a voice I recognize erupts from the ruckus.
Snapping my head toward the sound, I catch Brielle rushing toward me. She throws her arms around me and takes a shaky breath. “Oh my God, I’m so happy to see you! Please tell me Izzy’s at your house.”
My head rears back slowly as she eases away and looks me in the eye. “Uh...no? I was just coming to pick her up. Persia told me she’d be with Aester until I arrived.”
Brielle’s face pales to a frightening degree. I literally witness all the blood, every drop of color drain from her face like a rainstorm washing away a painting. “Ae...Aester’s not here,” she croaks, hazel eyes wide.
My stomach shoots up to my throat. “What do you mean she’s not here?”
“Not here, as in gone. The door to Persia’s is wide open. Her neighbor noticed this morning when she left to drop off her daughter at the sanctuary and head into town. When