AMARIS’S POV
Some mornings often began that way—slow, but not in the poetic sense.
It was the kind of agonizing slow where I could acutely feel the heaviness in my bones, the sharp ache splitting through my skull, and the shivering, even though my skin was burning up.
It was the kind of slow where I wished time could move faster so I’d feel less pain.
Back in Lilith’s household, there was never such luck though—those were the mornings she was unusually the most demanding.
She’d hate how her coffee was made. Snap if I moved too slow. Or yank so hard at my hair the moment I stopped to catch my breath.
Of course, she wasn’t oblivious to the symptoms of my black fever—she just didn’t care. I still needed to earn my keep, she’d say.
In fact, I was convinced she didn’t care about a sing
