4
" I drag the body out into the snowdrifts, as far away from our shack as I can muster. I put her in a thicket of trees, where the green seems to still have a voice in the branches, and try not to think about the beasts that’ll soon be gathering. There’s no way of burying her; the ground is a solid rock of ice beneath us.
I kneel beside her and want desperately to weep. My throat tightens and my head aches. Everything hurts inside. But I have no way of releasing it. I’m locked up and hard as stone.
“I’m sorry, Mamma,” I whisper to the shell in front of me. I take her hand. It could belong to a glass doll. There’s no life there anymore.
So I gather rocks, one by one, and set them over her, trying my best to protect her from the birds, the beasts, keep her safe as much as I can now. I pile the dark stones gently on her stomach, her arms, and over her face, until she becomes one with the mountain.
I stand and study my work, feeling like the rocks are on me instead, then I leave the body for the forest and ice. "
― Rachel A. Marks , Winter Rose
8
" I can’t stand the awkward anymore, so I motion to the door and say, “I’ll just—” “No. Please.” She looks up at me. “I can’t be alone.” Seriously? This girl needs a lecture about being too familiar with strangers. Maybe I should sing her that “Stranger Danger” song you’re supposed to learn in kindergarten. “I don’t bite, I swear,” she adds. “How’re you so sure that I don’t?” She lays back on the bed again and stares at the ceiling. “I don’t care.” Something is very wrong here. I try to feel for spirits or old emotions again, something to point at why she looks so lost, why she doesn’t care about herself, but there’s just that distant hum in the air. “I can’t stay,” I say. I need to check on Ava this morning before she goes to the academy. Rebecca doesn’t move. “You don’t know anything about me,” I add. “You should be more careful, Rebecca.” She startles at the sound of her name and sits up. “How . . . ?” “Your license. The same way I knew where you lived. Like I said, you need to be more careful.” She seems to settle. “My name’s not Rebecca. Well, it is, but everyone calls me Emery. "
― Rachel A. Marks , Darkness Brutal (The Dark Cycle #1)
