I didn’t sleep. You don’t sleep when your soul feels like it’s been scraped out with a rusted spoon. You just lie there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for your heart rate to climb back up to a rhythm that suggests you’re actually alive.
By the time the sun dragged itself over the horizon, painting Oakhaven in shades of bruise-purple and gray, I had managed to pull myself upright. I drank three cups of black coffee, but it didn't help. The caffeine just jittered in my veins, having no magical reserve to latch onto.
I looked in the mirror. My skin was the color of old parchment. My eyes, usually a vibrant amethyst, were dull, like stones found at the bottom of a river.
"Concealer," I whispered to my reflection. "And a high collar."
I layered on the makeup to hide the dark circles and b
