The minutes pass, absent from thought.
Esmie stands to the side of her lectern. “Class is over, children. You may leave.” Putting her hands together below her sleeves, she watches everyone put away their work or finish up spells.
Peter stops drawing. Holding up the page, he stares at a portrait of what Sarah used to look like. He stares at it until the image blurs.
Esmie clears her throat.
Peter looks up. The last one in the room, he rolls the page and tucks it under his doublet. He swipes his hands against each other, forgetting about the charcoal, and the black smudges all over his palms. So instead, he rubs his hands against his black pants, but the black smudges more. Growling to himself, he rolls his eyes and leaves the room.
When Peter clears the doorway, Sarah pushes off the wa
