“Your own what?”
“I don’t know. My heart, I think. My body. I love him, every part of him.”
“Fine, you love him. But, Winter, he seemed to know what he was doing.”
“Protecting me,” Winter whispered. “He’s always protecting me.” She was startled by the unexpected scent of blood invading her lungs. She looked down and gasped.
“What? What’s wrong?”
Winter held the fabric of her dress away from her stomach. The blood had soaked the shimmering white material, turning it dark red. Even the cloth they’d taken from the servant was covered. The stench was so thick she could taste it.
“Winter?”
“It—it’s nothing,” she stammered, trying to imagine it away. The blood dripped down her legs.
“You’re hallucinating, aren’t you?”
Winter leaned back against the seat. She wrapped her fingers around the straps of her harness. It’s all in your head, Princess. It isn’t real. “I’m fine. It will go away soon.”
“Honestly,” Scarlet snapped, “why don’t you just use your glamour? Why let it drive you crazy like this?”
“I won’t.” Winter choked down another difficult breath.
“I get that, but why?”
“It is a cruel gift. I wish I hadn’t been born with it.”
“Well, you were born with it. Look at you, Winter. You’re a mess. Why don’t you just—I don’t know—make me think your hair is orange or something? Something harmless?”
“It’s never harmless.” The harness constricted. Her fingernails clawed at the straps.
“If I had the gift,” continued Scarlet, ignorant of the harness’s choking hold, the gushing blood, “I would have shown those snotty imbeciles a thing or two. See how they like being asked to do tricks.”
Winter’s hands were wet and slick and sticky.
“My grandfather was Lunar,” said Scarlet. “I never met him, but I do know he died in an insane asylum. I have to assume because he made the same choice you’re making now. He was down on Earth and trying to hide what he was, so maybe he had a reason. But you? Why do this to yourself? How does it make anything better?”
“It does not make anything worse.”
“It makes you worse. Why can’t you just … do good things with it?”
Winter laughed against the strain of the delusion. “They all believe they are doing good.” Her head fell to the side and she watched Scarlet with her bleary eyes. “My stepmother is not only powerful because the people fear her, she is powerful because she can make them love her when she needs them to. We think that if we choose to do only good, then we are only good. We can make people happy. We can offer tranquility or contentment or love, and that must be good. We do not see the falsehood becoming its own brand of cruelty.”
The ship trembled and their speed increased. Luna blurred beneath them.
“Once,” Winter continued, pushing the words out of her lungs. “Once I believed with all my heart that I was doing good. But I was wrong.”
Scarlet’s gaze darted to her, then back to the landscape. “What happened?”
“There was a servant who tried to kill herself. I stopped her. I forced her to change her mind. I made her happy. I was so sure I was helping her.” Her breaths came in strangled gasps, but she kept talking, hoping to push through the hallucination if she ignored it enough. “But all I did was give her more time to be tortured by Aimery. He was quite fond of her, you see.”
Scarlet went quiet, but Winter dared not look at her.
“The next time she tried to take her life, she succeeded. Only then did I realize that I hadn’t helped her at all.” She swallowed, hard. “That day I swore to never manipulate anyone again. Even if I believed I was doing good—for who am I to presume what is good for others?”
The harness tightened again, pressing against Winter’s sternum, cutting against her ribs. The blood was spilling over it now. Soon it would be sloshing around her ankles. The harness would cut right through her, chopping her into girl-shaped pieces. Razor wire slicing through her flesh.
Winter shut her eyes.
Stay with me, Princess.
After a suffocating silence, Scarlet murmured, “It just seems like there should be a way to manage it, without … this.”
The harness tightened, forcing the air out of her lungs. With a whimper, she tilted her head back to avoid it pressing against her windpipe.
“What—Winter?”
Stars danced behind her eyelids. Her lungs burned. Blood dripped off the curls of her hair and soaked into the harness straps. She stopped fighting it and let her body slump forward. The straps crushed her sternum, snapped her ribs.
Scarlet cursed, but the sound was distant and muffled.
Hands thumped against her like mittened fingers, leaning her back against the seat and feeling her throat. She heard her name but it was far away, trying to reach her across a whole sea of stars and everything was fading fast …