12. Niamh

Iam a twisted mess of thoughts. My mind no longer makes sense—it's a once orderly archive that's been raided, every book torn open and burned. Pages ripped out and scattered. The worst part is that the intruder, the culprit, is still there. In my head. In my skull.

He laughs at my attempts to kick him out.

And it isn't fair to me. It isn't fair to poor Day who watches me with a half-frown instead of his half smile. He's spoken words to me that I haven't heard. Make requests I haven't heeded.

The worst part is that Caspian isn't here. He left. I could feel his essence retreat like a dark storm cloud finally rolling past, but it's too late. The damage left by the storm remains and I alone am tasked with repairing it all.

But the truth is, some things are ruined beyond repair. In some intrinsic way I will never be the same again. The vamryre took something from me, but I'm not even sure if it wasn't his to take in the first place.

The book I read on the subject was a lie. It described an act cruel, cold and impersonal. Something like a bodily function, relieving waste or intaking food. Something that didn't matter long after it happened.

But this… Whatever happened in the archive matters in some unknown, sinister way. I can feel his touch long after he's left. Even when Day gives up trying to speak and watches me pensively, I still hear him. Caspian. His voice etches itself into my skull, taunting and inescapable. Little fae… Little fae…

I'll never escape that grated rasp. I'll never get his touch out of my skin.

I will never be as I was again.

"You are distracted. Again," Day remarks. The way he drew out that final word makes me swallow hard with guilt. Again. He takes time from his studies to visit me and I am distracted. A mortal sin on any other day but today. I need to think—repair my shattered psyche.

"I'm tired," I lie. "I didn't sleep much."

He doesn't accept the excuse and sees it for the fragile lie it is. His eyes gleam.

"Because of the ceremony," he says. "You've heard them talking."

Them. Who? I don't know, but I prefer his happiness to his annoyance. So, I nod.

And he smiles, a real ripe smile. On the surface it's more beautiful than any a vamryre could display. So why do I feel as if he flashed a mouthful of fangs?

Because you're corrupted, a part of me whispers. Sullied by a night creature.

"You know the significance now, of what this means." He steps forward, his head held high, his hands tugging his robes into place. Then he does something odd—something he's never done before. He reaches out and brushes his thumb along my cheek. A brief, gentle contact.

But it stings. Burns. It's wrong. He's broken so many rules already just by seeing me in secret. Why risk a greater punishment? He isn't supposed to touch me.

"I'm sorry," I say as I jerk out of his reach. As if I made him do it.

Rather than remember himself, he reaches out for me again. Takes my hand. His are so soft in comparison to mine—ugly and calloused with broken, ragged nails.

Not because I keep them in such a state. But because I dug every last one into the flesh of a vamryre hard enough to hurt another creature. He didn't even flinch.

But Day does as I wrench back. "You shouldn't," I say. It's wrong. I don't want him risking any trouble for me.

"I will," he says, clasping his hands over his front. "One day after the ceremony. No one can stop me then."

I don't know what he's talking about. I don't care to know. I need solace and silence. I need to think.

"You should leave," I say. "You've come here too much already. What if someone sees? What if someone knows?"

I cast a furtive glance to the door of the archives, but Day laughs. Startled, I look back at him, but his gaze is locked up tight. He's smug about something though, which isn't like him. He's gloating over knowing something that I don't.

"Tomorrow," he says, but I stiffen. Shake my head.

"Day, please don't?—"

"Tomorrow." He turns and leaves as silently as he came.

And in this solitude I craved so desperately…I break. Tears come too hard and too fast to smother. I have to capture them in both hands as if I can shove them back inside my skull where they belong. Too late. They cascade down and through my upturned fingers. I'd need a wall to ever keep them back.

Creatures like me are not supposed to cry. How dare we? We are sheltered and fed and kept safe from those who would harm us out of rightful disgust. I have no reason to cry.

Even if a vamryre made me feel things I didn't know a body could feel. Dirty things. Sinful things. His memory hurts my soul.

Why?

What did I do to deserve such a villain? Perhaps he is my atonement from all my years of disobeying Lord Master. I can't pretty up the transgressions or lie to myself anymore. I've sinned and sinned and now I'm being punished.

Punishment is meant to serve as a painful reminder, however. A deterrent.

Ideally, one shouldn't want to commit another sin.