12
Rose
Minutes after Rose’s death.
“Wake up.”
The voice I hear can’t be real. She’s dead. I killed her myself. Held her hand as her life force ebbed from her body.
“Don’t bother. He’ll be here soon.”
That’s my mother. I never thought comfort would seize me at the sound of her voice.
“Who’s coming?” I croak. My body is my own again. Same hair, feet, hands. Even my clothes are back. Thank goodness for the little things. I was tired of the stale, white clothes I wore in the asylum. Shifting into a beast is not something I want to do daily. What’s better is that I don’t feel the black pit in my gut anymore. It’s me, and I am my own person again. Even though I’m no longer alive, relief fills me.
“The ferryman is coming, silly. Momma traded your life for mine,” Snow beams. No one knows
