“Come here often?” I try, addressing her first as a friend might. The people dotted between us fall terse and silent, looking to Fione expectantly. I hate putting her on the spot. I hate this taut string between us at all, but it’s here, and I’m tugging on it like a curious seamstress trying to find a mistake. Like a friend, who’s trying to tell if she still has the chance to be friends at all.

Fione’s face doesn’t change, the wax-drawn lines down her cheeks curving into crescent moons around her rosebud mouth. Is she furious? I can’t tell. She’s always been so immaculate with the noble mask that hides one’s true feelings. She was the first friend I ever had. Not only in Vetris but—I think—in life as well.

I take a step forward, and the effect is instant—she promptly takes a step back, her mask breaking and her blush paling.

“I-I’m sorry.” Her eyes dart around, anywhere but in my direction. “I have to go.”

With a sinking stomach, I watch her push through the crowd, her short frame swallowed up by them in a blink. Hate or fear? Which is it? Both? My presence didn’t make her feel comfortable, that much is certain. In the aftermath of what I’d done in the clearing, when I passed out, she must’ve seen all the blood and the bodies—

how courageous can a mouse be, when it faces a wolf tearing mice apart? The hunger sneers. and yet there you stand, foolishly, still thinking a mouse and a wolf could ever be friends…

I snatch another flute of wine from a passing tray and down it, hoping the bitter liquid will blur the hunger’s voice. Or drown it, with any luck.

Watching Fione go, hammers the first and hardest nail into my chest; I can’t change what I’ve done. Is this what life is? Pushing through the days hurting others, making mistakes, and yet left with no choice but to do it again and again? Now more than ever, I want Y’shennria here with me—my eyes search for her face in the crowd, her puffy dark hair set with gems and her easy, graceful poise. She’d know exactly how to deal with such things: what expression to put on and, when we were alone in the carriage home, advice. She’d chide me, too, for believing I had real friends here in Vetris, but I know between the chiding would be kernels of kindness.

alone, always.

I straighten my shoulders. I can’t rely on her. Comfort is a luxury I don’t deserve. This crushing pain is mine alone to deal with.