✦✧✦
Later, they tell her that it was a fatal mistake. They say they had no foresight to the turmoil lying beneath the waters, that the merman who attacked her was but a juvenile child, to say the least, not yet used to the strict ways of his people. They say he was too curious, that, in his eyes, she was a spectacle he had yet seen — she was a spectacle he wanted to make his own.
They say that it was thanks to the Giant Squid that she was recovered from the icy pits of the obsidian lake. They say that he wrapped his giant tentacle around the merman and unlatched him from her, brought her back to the surface with a certain kind of gentleness that only the squid could obtain.
Her lips were painted deep blue, almost purple, and she wasn't breathing, they said.
She doesn't really remember these facts, doesn't remember coming to, either, but they recite it to her like a speech and she listens to the calm, collected voice of Dumbledore wash over her. It's a little muddled from all the blankets she has wrapped around her body in an attempt to get warm, but she makes out most of the words, finds that she doesn't want to hear them anymore.
There's a ringing in her ears, Dumbledore's voice still carrying a little fuzzy and she doesn't think it has anything to do with the blankets anymore, thinks it probably the aftereffects. She feels like she's adrift, floating in the icy waves, sinking further and further until Dumbledore's voice fades out like a wave ebbing back into the sea. . .
When she wakes again, it's to eyes bluer than the ocean. They're rimmed with red, bloodshot as they stare at her. She squints, finds that her vision is a little wonky and huddles deeper into her blankets because in her blankets she's warm, she's secure and there's no hands clutching her, no arms wrapped around her in a vice grip that had her begging for the release of death.
The eyes disappear and there's angry muttering pounding around in her head. She can't hear much, doesn't really understand what's happening but her mother sounds mad, she thinks. She sounds angry and worried and relieved all at once and she can hear the tears in her voice, and it springs saltiness into her own. Her sobs come out muffled, deformed, too wrong like her voice isn't working. She tries to claw at her throat because it hurts, she wants to hear herself, but it's in vain.
Hands surround her face, searing to her chilled skin and she seeks out the warmth, curls into like a cat beside a fire. Her mum sounds even sadder at that, like she can't quite believe this is happening and it hurts her, makes her heart seize, the tears come faster, mute to her ears but still brutal all the same. Her eyes fall shut and she falls into darkness again.
The next time she wakes, she sees grey, dark and stormy and she thinks, no. She can see it in his irises, the guilt and shame and the turmoil, and it physically pains her, makes her reach her fragile arm out to smack at him because he's a prick, an idiotic dolt, it's not his fault, it was never his fault, stop, please.
She tries to speak, but her mouth seems to be frozen shut, her lips taped together. She furrows her brows in confusion, tries again. "C-Ce—" It falls short on her lips again and she cries because what's happening? Why isn't she okay? Why does she feel so cold, so brittle and worthless when there's so much warmth covering her? Why are her legs numb, her arms sore, her body exhausted? Why can't she speak? Or hear?
Why is he swirling in her vision? Grey mixes with pine brown and her head falls back roughly, her tears burning her cheeks, and she sees no more.
✦✧✦
Her dreams are plagued by anchors, curled around her with their heavy chains, lowering her deeper into the abyss. There's a hand on her mouth, silencing her screams, her pleas for help, and she feels helpless, water filling her lungs in a quick recession that has her panicking. She reaches and reaches and fights until her arms feel like lead and her brain is pounding from the pressure and then she lets go because the fight is over. She lost. She needs to give in.
And she does.
And then her eyes force themselves open, and Cress fights her way out of the tendrils of arms snaked around her, forcing her to submit to their wicked ways. Her heart jumps out of her chest and her throat is raw and her head is filled with cotton as she tangles with the cocoon around her, raspy cries escaping her aching throat as she tries to force freedom upon herself.
Hands touch her face a moment later, and Cress gasps, winces so hard she almost gives herself whiplash. The hands are soft, though, and they feel familiar and she searches blindly for the comfort of her mother, hears her soothing words whispered into her ear a moment later.
"It's okay," she says, getting behind her, unraveling the blankets (just blankets, Cress notes with relief) and getting behind her, arms around Cress's waist as she rocks her back and forth. "You're okay," her whispers are healing balms to Cress's shattered heart. She latches onto it, feeling smaller, a child woken up by the monster in the closet. "It's all alright now. I'm here. You're safe. You're going to be okay. . ."
Her mother repeats it like a mantra, voice shaky even though she tries to act strong for Cress. Cress senses it, cries for making her worry, wishing that she could have been stronger, more resilient and then maybe – just maybe – she would have gotten away, would have escaped and found freedom in the bitter air.
But she wasn't strong enough.
And now everything feels numb.
✦✧✦
Dumbledore gives her his grievances. He speaks to her softly, a couple days later, telling her this and that and if she needs time off, she's allowed it. She deserves it after all she's been through.
Cress hardly listens, her head pounding with a horrendous cold. Her hazy eyes focus on his fluffy beard that's absolutely sparkling in her line of sight. She supposes it could be the sunlight coming in through the window, but she's not too sure. She wants to ask how he manages to make it so fluffy, thinks he probably brushes it more than his own mane of hair.
Her mother whirls on Dumbledore when he's through. Blythe is still angry over the fact that Cress, who was promised that she wouldn't be in any danger whatsoever, was threatened by a loose cannon of a merman. The woman irately exclaims that she could most definitely sue this school for its fortune, but Cress thinks she's going a little bit overboard. It wouldn't be Hogwarts without the life-threatening occurrences that happen every other day.
Cedric sits quietly beside her bedside, all tired eyes and drooping shoulders. He's got Cress's hand in his, gripping it firmly, never once letting go. His eyes hold a shameless guilt in them, stormy and grey, like a hurricane striking the ocean. His shoulder looks as though they're holding the weight of the world on them, like he's the Titan Atlas and soon, the burden he's carrying is going to be too much for him.
Cress squeezes his hand, tries to give him a small smile, but it falls flat on her chapped lips. There hasn't been much of a reason for her to smile lately, she thinks. Her head still aches, her throat so raw she can't even mutter one measly word. She just sits her, in the hospital wing, alone with her thoughts because Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore decided it would be best to let her get over her "emotional trauma" as the deemed it with only close family present.
Cress thinks it's bullshit.
And, sure, maybe that's her being a little indignant about the whole thing, but she's been through a lot, dammit, let her see Axel and Mallory and Hamlin and Lee and George and Ginny and Fred! She deserves that much.
But she doesn't say anything, mainly because she can't, and she stews in her self-misery at night, howling in the early mornings when the sun hasn't risen, when the moon's at its peak, her mouth open in silent screams, her mind rattled and heart breaking over and over again in her chest as she sees the darkening waters, falls deeper into the abyss that no one can free her from.
"Apologies," says Dumbledore abruptly, tilting his head at Cress in sorrow, "but I'm afraid I must depart as of right now. But, I will leave you, hopefully in good spirits. As of tomorrow, your friends may visit you."
He leaves with a swish of his dark eggplant-colored robe. Her mother scoffs at his back like she isn't afraid of what he would do should he turn around and retaliate to her obvious bluff, and Cedric just stares at the dark fabrics of Cress's blankets, quiet. She squeezes his hand again, figures he needs the comfort more than she ever could.
I'm okay, she mouths when he glances her way.
A smile, miniscule but somewhat reassured, blossoms on his face. He squeezes her hand back but doesn't respond. Cress figures that means, I know.
"Well, if you ask me," Blythe says, coming over to them, sitting at a chair to the right of Cress's bed, "I'll tell you that I want you to come home with me, Crescent." Her mother pins her with her crystalline eyes. "You've already almost seen death once this year. Twice is too much."
Cress feels her stomach drop. Her heart is made of lead, and she wishes she could say something, wants to shout at her mum not to take her away from Hogwarts. Even though it's a little shabby and there's a lot of problems that Dumbledore needs to work out before someone inevitably bites the dust, Cress has found a home within it, something that she holds dear to her and she can't let her mother take it away from her.
"No," Cedric say lowly, as if reading her thoughts. Cress sags against her pillows in relief. "You can't take Cress away from Hogwarts, Mum. That's the maddest idea you've ever conjured up."
Her mum sighs, as though this were expected. She gives Cress a once over, smiling slightly at her. "I know," she tells them both. "I know you wouldn't leave, even if I tried to forcefully drag you away from the place, but still. I worry about you two. And Cedric's in this forsaken tournament for Merlin knows what reasons. . . I just want you two to be safe."
"And we are," replies Cedric, assuredly. "We're so bloody safe here, Mum."
Cress is inclined to agree, just so she can continue staying here. She's got O.W.L.s coming up, plus a career talk with Professor Sprout coming up – she has to stay and finish this school year, if only to have that satisfaction.
(But, she thinks, if her education weren't on the line, Cress would most definitely hop on the next train out of here.)
"I suppose I can't much blame the first brush of threats on Hogwarts alone," Blythe says, giving Cress a pointed glare. She sinks lower into her fort of blankets, squinting. Her head is still pounding, chest congested with all kinds of nasty diseases. "After all, you're in Madam Pomfrey's once a year due to cinnamon related accidents."
An accurate statement, Cress decides. She makes it an annual thing, trying out cinnamon every year at school just to see if she's gotten over her allergies to it yet. (She never has.) She musters up a grimace for her mum. Blythe just pinches the bridge of her nose and hugs Cress's shoulders, kissing her hair.
"You two are growing up so fast," she says, voice catching with emotions. Cedric reaches over and takes her hand, gripping it comfortingly. "I guess I'm just trying to dote on you. Pretty soon, I won't be able, too. Cedric's going to leave the nest with Hamlin, probably, after he graduates and then it's you, Cress. You're both growing up." She's openly crying now, sniffling into Cress's dirty, greasy hair sadly.
Cedric blushes at the comment, but says, "Nothing's wrong with doting, Mum. And nothing's wrong with worrying about your children."
"Of course, there isn't, but sometimes I wish I only had to worry about who you guys fancied. But instead, I have to worry about bloody dragons and sodding merpeople who apparently think my daughter is their soulmate."
Cress sends her mum cheeky finger guns, an attempt to lighten the mood. Blythe takes it in stride, laughing softly, kissing Cress on the forehead once more before breaking the embrace. Cedric grins gently at the two of them, his bloodshot eyes hooded and worn out. Cress wishes he would get some sleep. She wishes they both would instead of worrying over her so much.
But they're stressed. She understands that. However, there is only so much a girl can take before it starts to get worrisome and the bags underneath both of their eyes are really dampening Cress's already sour mood.
"Well, Cress almost kissed Fred Weasley, if you want to know about our love lives," says Cedric, slyly.
Traitor, Cress thinks, cheeks blazing as her mother turns to her, gaping. Cedric's grinning at her cheekily, but Cress is certain that he's relieved to have the attention diverted to another subject. Her body wracks with shivers and she pulls the covers over her more, trying to obscure herself from her mother's vision in doing so.
"Cress!" her mum exclaims. Cress imagines that her hand is on her heart, or somewhere near that general vicinity. "How come you failed to inform me of this?!"
Cress makes some flimsy hand gestures. Cedric says, "It's because Axel rammed into them like a wild bull and ruined their very steamy moment." And Merlin's beard, he's been so corrupted by not only the Slytherins – Hamlin, too! Cress is going to have to hold an intervention.
Except for that's going to have to happen when she feels like she might be okay. Because, right now, Cress is pretty sure this is what death is. The pounding in her head as though someone is striking her with a giant hammer; the sensitivity of her skin to the point where moving a millimeter hurts her whole body; her chest being so clogged up that it feels like she'll never be able to take a deep breath again – this is what death is like, she's certain of it.
"Aw, honey!" Blythe puts a comforting hand on Cress's shoulder. She tries not to flinch away but her mouth grimaces. Blythe doesn't notice. "It's okay! I'm sure the time will come when you can finally plant one on him! And then you won't even have to worry about the twenty-year plan!"
Cedric snorts. "You were planning on wooing Fred for twenty years?"
Cress glares weakly, sneezing loudly. It's followed by a cough that sounds like something a banshee would produce. Blythe pats her soothingly and Cress's head squeezes. She shudders and furrows into her bed, whining faintly.
"Oh, heavens," her mum comments, hand resting on Cress's forehead. She presses her lips there next, frowning when she pulls away. "Cress, honey, you've got a temperature."
There's a pause in which Cress digests this information she already knows. She can feel her swollen eyes shutting, the need for sleep weighing over her consciousness. Her mother calls for Madam Pomfrey, voice urgent, and the woman comes in a flurry, all worried questions and concerns. She retrieves Cress some Pepper-Up and demands she take it. Cress tries not to make a face when it goes down, but it's so spicy and it heats up her face, makes steam come out of her ears.
Cedric snickers, although his eyes, when he glances upon her, are worried. Cress wants to roll her eyes. She doesn't. Cedric sends her a look, anyway.
"Perhaps, it would be best to let her rest for the time being," Madam Pomfrey suggests, kindly. "I'm sure Mr. Diggory wouldn't mind showing you around the castle again. It's been ages since you've been here, I'm certain, Blythe."
Blythe nods her head slowly, glancing at Cress one more time as if to make sure Cress has no qualms against these plans. Cress snuggles into her blankets just to prove it. Cedric follows suit, too, and is on his feet in a second, hand leaving Cress's in favor of being stuffed in his pockets.
"Yes, yes," her mum says, smiling pleasantly at Cedric. "I would love for you to show me the grounds. It would be nice to see the places Amos and I occupied on more than one occasion."
"Mum!" Cedric whines, but leads her out, their arms intertwined.
The sun is peaking on the horizon, so it's probably noon, Cress concludes. She listens to the faint chatter of people passing the hospital wing, going to lessons, head aching in a way it's never done before. Her throat is searing, her whole body a shivering mess as she curls deeper into the blankets, seeking warmth, seeking comfort. The tips of her fingers feel numb, frozen over, and she clenches her hands together, furls them around one another to ease the ache. Her eyes get heavier and heavier until Madam Pomfrey's low humming is mute to her ears.
She hopes there are no nightmares.
✦✧✦
Of course, there are nightmares; hoping there wasn't going to be was wishful thinking on her part. But Cress isn't surprised. It's not everyday someone goes through an experience quite like hers without the backlash of traumatic stress. There's still the choking sensation, the feeling of helplessness, of seeing blind, feeling the darkness coil around her, shrouding and ominous, as she is dragged down to the coldest parts of the icy lakes.
But aside from all the other times she's woken, back damp with fearful sweats, eyes dripping searing tears as she stared up at the darkened ceiling, there's sunshine in her line of sight and it's in the form of Fred Weasley.
It's morning — at least, Cress thinks it is, if the beaming light streaming through the windows is anything to go by — and there's a certain chill in the air. Her eyes blearily blink themselves open and there's still that ache in her throat, the pounding in her head that reminds her she's not fully operational.
But Fred is there and he's smiling, brightly, worriedly, eyes crinkled in concern that warms Cress to her toes. The covers wrapped around her are suddenly unnecessary, but she doesn't remove them since they're safe — a reminder that there's no more icy waters in her future, she's safe, breathing — alive.
A hand runs through his hair, almost as though he's nervous, and Cress watches with hazy eyes — eyes probably caked in eye boogers and other grime that must look horrendous to his eyes — as he pulls out a muffin from Merlin knows where. She doesn't even ask, can't even hear past the white noise in her ears, like she's listening to a broken television, the static maddening yet also comforting. Her heart radiates heat against her ribcage, her cheeks probably a vibrant fuchsia, both from her death virus and the fact that Fred Weasley is the best thing to ever happen to her.
"Snagged you a muffin," he says cheerily, setting it on her bedside table with a gentleness one would use with a newborn animal. Cress's eyes almost well up. "Don't worry," Fred sends her a cheeky smile, "it's not going to kill you. Gadby made it without cinnamon but he says it's still good and that you would like it because he always makes it for you, so I hope you like it. It's okay if you don't, of course—" he cuts off with a sheepish laugh, looks at Cress once more and then glances away.
Honestly, Cress is pretty certain that she is dead right now. There is no other way around it — she's dead and Fred Weasley bringing her a muffin and acting all shy and cute and whatnot is a figment of her imagination. Perhaps Hades decided to let her off the hook and allow her to dream about the one thing she likes most in the world. She chocks it up to that and then reaches for his hand, grinning softly at him to convey her gratitude.
"Thank you," she mouths, squeezing.
Fred seems to deflate at this, sagging in his chair as though sheer willpower was holding him up. He smiles brightly at Cress. "Don't worry about it! Snagged one myself, too!" Another muffin makes its way to Cress's line of sight and she grins broadly. "Had about three on the way here, I was so starved! But anyway," he adds, taking a giant bite of the new muffin and peering at Cress curiously, "how are you?"
There's a moment where Cress really ponders over this question; she thinks over every possible outcome she could give and then comes up shorthanded, feeling as though each one of them sounds more and more like a lie. Fred waits patiently, gnawing on his muffin happily, and she watches him, for a moment, something blooming in her chest, spreading throughout her whole body.
She shrugs. Fred latches onto this, tilting his head to the side, perplexed. Through a mouthful of muffin, he asks, "Is your voice gone?"
Cress nods, a little confused as to how he doesn't know this. She figures Cedric would have told anyone he could how she was doing.
But, then again, Cedric's been going through his own distress.
"Well, that puts a right damper on things," Fred comments, frowning at her. There's a bit of crumb on the corner of his mouth. "Now, you're going to have to listen to me blather on. Probably not going to be much fun."
Cress finds that she doesn't mind. If it's Fred, she doesn't.
Because Fred is a welcome distraction. He's the light in the dark, the sun beaming down on her lightless, dark nights, bathing them in rich warmth. He's kind and selfless and he brought Cress a cupcake and he makes her heart beat in a way that should not be allowed, that should render her paralyzed, frozen on the floor in cardiac arrest.
He stares at her, not like he's sorry, not with pity or sympathy, but with pride, a proudness that Cress didn't know she could revel in until now. But his gaze makes her hotter, makes the fever she's trying to fight seem trivial, makes the Black Lake looming in the distance seem invisible. It's only them, is what his gaze is telling her.
Don't worry, it's telling her, illuminated by a smile of a thousand watts, I'm here.
His hand is still in hers, and, as he goes into a story about how Lee fell down the stairs the other day, his fingers wrap around hers, squeezing — assuring and solid warmth against her sensitive skin.
And, for a moment, she forgets all about the chains wrapped around her body, forgets about the anvil on her chest, choking and heavy. There's no more shadows, no more darkness or waters that pierce skin and create nightmares — there's only Fred, his hand in hers, and blueberry muffins that taste like heaven.
(Or, at least, they would, if she could bloody use her taste buds.)
✦✧✦
"You fucking shit!"
Cress barely has time to register the exclamation before Axel is throwing himself on her pile of blankets, wrapping his arms around her tightly — almost like he wants to strangle her but isn't too sure how well that will settle with her mum, who is watching the exchange with a bemused endearment.
Her head swims as he pulls back, enough to where she can see his whole face but still close enough to where his arms are around her neck. There's a flurry of obsidian and blue, electric and daring and relieved, and Cress's heart gives into the familiarity of it all.
It's Axel, she tells herself, tries to stomp down on the part of her that thinks it's something else, the one that conjures up an image so gruesome, she almost winces in retaliation. Just Axel.
"You're a prick, you know?" he asks her. "A right arsehole! The biggest ninny in all the land, Mo! To get yourself fucking kidnapped! Lord almighty, it takes a special kind of person to get snatched by bloody merpeople!"
A tug of the lips. Cress's heart soothes itself at the boisterous, curseful words. She sees Axel, the swirling turned solid, no longer watery around the edges, fuzzy at best. He's glaring at her, black eyebrows furrowed down on his head, and there are tears gleaming in his eyes and Cress reaches a hand out of her cocoon and runs it through his tangled mane. He chokes on a sob and buries his head into her neck, tears staining her shirt.
"S'okay," she croaks out, voice still rough from disuse. It's only been a day since she's been able to talk, and even now, it still irritates her throat whenever she does so. She's had to keep her sentences to a minimum. "I'm okay."
"The fuck if you are!" Axel answers vehemently, sniffling into her shoulder. "You were fucking blue, Mo! Blue! In what world is that okay?!"
Cress thinks that perhaps this is true. Her predicament was not the best and she can understand why Axel is as hysterical as he is. She would be, too, had the roles been reversed.
"It's okay, sweetheart," her mother inputs comfortingly, resting a hand on Axel's shoulder and rubbing it. Axel pulls back and gives Blythe a grin, watery. His eyes are rubbed red, irritated, crimson bleeding into white around the irises.
Cress wonders how well he's been sleeping. And then she hates herself for causing this much strain with her petty injuries.
"Crescent is doing spectacularly now. There's no need to fret any longer." Blythe pulls Axel into an embrace of her own, wrapping her arms around his shoulder with all the suave of a nurturing mother. Axel leans into it willingly, humming a little under his breath as he regains his composure. He sniffles into her shoulder.
Off to the left, Cress hears a soft, "Hello, Crescent," and almost has a heart attack.
But it's just Mallory, hair pulled back into a braid, eyes kind and relieved. Tiny Viktor sits on her leg, grumpy and complacent all at once, and Cress tears up at the sight of them both.
It's felt like forever, really, since she's seen her friends, her best mates, and the swell of her heart is almost too much to contain. She takes in tiny Viktor's puffy eyebrows, his small frown that's permanently etched onto his face, and she feels her toes curling, loves the way he's so grumpy all the time.
And then there's Mallory — soft, gentle Mallory, who smiles are like porcelain, frail but beautiful to look out. Her eyes are lit by the afternoon sun, gleaming like gems, and she's got a scarf wrapped around her neck, yellow and black. It's so familiar, so welcoming to Cress's deprived being that she cries.
Later, she'll blame it on the fever, on the blasted sickness she acquired from being dragged down to the pits of icy hell, but really, it's just Cress missing her friends. And it's really pathetic, really, since it's been only a week since she's seen them last, but still, that's enough to make a girl go mad with anticipation and impatience.
Cress sniffles as Mallory brings her into a warm embrace, arms timid yet so sure around her shoulders. It's like being wrapped in a million blankets but not suffocating from the heat they provide because it's just right, no matter how many you add or take away, the heat remains but never gets too high, never strays too low and that's what Mallory is like.
But Cress can't stay in the hold for too long because Mallory's immune system can't take many germs and Cress would hate for the girl to get sick on her account.
So, she pulls back and gives Mallory a genuine smile, glad to see her and Mallory flushes back, ducking her head and handing Cress small Viktor.
Cress beams at him. She wants to say something to him, ask where Uma is perhaps, since he's rarely been away from the tiny dragon since he's gotten it, but her throat is still raw and attempting anything will be tortuous to her.
He huffs at her, anyways, and crawls onto her pillows, right next to her head, curling up and closing his eyes, body relaxing in a reluctant comfortableness like he's finally eased whatever was on his tiny mind and Cress -- well, she just knows she doesn't regret that those spells worked too well on her tiny action figure.
"How're you feeling?" Mallory snaps Cress's attention away from tiny Viktor. She stares at Mallory, shrugging.
"Could. . . be better," she mumbles out, voice hoarse like gravel.
Mallory nods in sympathy and Cress feels like she, out of everyone, understands the situation the most, having been sick a majority of her childhood to adolescent years. Having someone who gets it but will not treat you as though you're broken is a relief, especially to Cress, who has been coddled ever since the incident.
Axel comes back over, dry streaks on his face, cheeks flushed with redness, and sits down at the end of Cress's cot, huffing. Cress's mum is smirking in the background, sipping on a cup of tea Gadby provided for her.
"Mo, first of all," he says, pointing at her, "what the fuck?"
Cress isn't too sure how to deem his question with a response. She remains silent, peering at him with irritated, red eyes, eyebrow quirked in hopes that he will continue.
He does, but not before sighing out like it's physically paining him to do so. "I just want to know how you get yourself caught up in the most peculiar situations. Like, sometimes they're even worse than Potter's and the mate killed a sodding basilisk in his second year!"
A shrug. Cress doesn't answer this, either, because she isn't too sure how she gets herself into accidents like these. (Granted, most of them are mundane compared to Harry's but still. These complications really need to stop before she loses it.)
"She tries her best," Mallory tries. Cress gives her a grateful smile.
Axel scoffs. "I won't argue there, but I swear, Mo, if you ever almost die again, I will murder you myself. That blasted merman won't even have the chance to take you three feet under before I get my hands on the both of you!" He throws his right hand, balled up in a fist, down onto his left hand, palm splayed open.
"Good. . . friend—love you," is all Cress says. It's all her throat allows, but even if it were in a healthier state, she feels like she would have said something similar to this. Because, although Axel says things like this, she knows it's just a mask for how deeply relieved he is — a façade to cover up how much he was worried about how much he cares.
So, she listens to his woes about the whole tournament, hearts the tales of Viktor Krums and the never-ending grievances that he causes Axel to have and feels warm — but not the blistering kind of warmth that made her mind fuzzy with a fever or the kind that had her body aching in cold swears, her mouth dry as cotton. It's the kind of warmth that simmers in her bones like molten lava, stable under the surface, never breaching but still burning hot — still searing and kind and beautiful.
His silk voice and Mallory's quiet, content voice that speaks in heavenly sins coax Cress back to sleep and, she does so, a smile glued on her face, head pounding as she settles into a position that doesn't jostle tiny Viktor.
No nightmares plague her subconscious and, finally, Cress feels free.
✦✧✦
NEW CHAPTER HELLO! I HAD THIS GOING DIFFERENTLY IN MY HEAD BUT I LIKE THIS VERSION BETTER (EVEN THOUGH IM HIGHLY UPSET WITH MYSELF FOR THE LACK OF GINNY AND GEORGE AND HAMLIN) AND DECIDED TO GIVE IT TO YOU NOW EVEN THOUGH ITS UNEDITED
LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT ABOUT IT AND ILL TRY TO GET A NEW UPDATE OUT SOON SINCE IM ON THANKSGIVING BREAK (THANK FUCK!!!)
BUT YEAH! I LOVE YOU ALL AND IM SO GRATEFUL FOR THE LOVE THIS BOOK HAS GOTTEN! THANK YOU!
(P.S. ACT ONE IS COMING TO AN END SOON DO YOU HEAR MY SCREECHING?)
(ALSO THE GIF OBVS DOESNT RELATE TO THE CHAPTER AT ALL BUT SAOIRSE LOOKED SO CUTE I COULDNT NOT USE IT)