Celeste
I told Blaise the next morning, at the pond, with a twin on either side of me.
It had been Axel's idea, and Lowen had agreed with a long-suffering sigh, and I had spent a sleepless night wondering how a woman could possibly feel so terrified and so happy at the same time. The morning was cold and clear. A thin skin of mist lay over the water, and the birches had begun to turn, small flecks of yellow caught among the green like the first gray hairs on a young head. I stood at the edge of the flat rock with my hands wrapped around a mug of tea I couldn't drink, and I watched Blaise come down the slope.
He saw us before he reached the bottom. I watched it hit him: three of us, standing close, when he'd expected one. He stopped, and every ounce of color left his face.
"Celeste." Hi
