ELLIE‘S POV
Sleep would not come.
The walls of my room pressed in around me, the wooden beams overhead seeming to twist and shift under the pale glow of the moonlight spilling through the window. I’d thrown the covers off and on again, turning on my side, my back, my stomach, but every time I closed my eyes, I could smell it.
That sharp, bitter tang of deathwort clung to my senses like smoke. I had scrubbed my hands until my skin felt raw, yet the scent remained, lodged somewhere deeper than flesh in my memory, in my bones.
I lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, trying to steady my breath. The more I fought it, the worse it became. Every time I blinked, I saw the cup. That perfect white-and-blue porcelain cup I had chosen for my parents. My small fingers gripping the handle, trembli
