Sighing, Coco joined Célie behind me, her hands threading through my hair. Comfortable and familiar. She leaned down, her cheek hovering beside mine, and our reflections met once more. “How many times have I told you? No scar is shameful.” Mouth set with determination, she plucked at the end of my ribbon, and it fell from my throat, revealing my scar. Except it wasn’t my scar any longer. At least, it wasn’t the scar I’d always known.

Gasping, I traced the fine lines with my fingertips, following the graceful curve of leaves, the delicate whorls of petals. Like a silver necklace, it transformed the column of my throat into something rare and beautiful. Something exquisite. When I swallowed, the leaves seemed to wink at me in the candlelight. “When did this happen?”

“When we learned you’d been possessed.” Coco straightened, pulling a small stool over beside my chair. From the pile of its fabric, the upholstery had once been velvet, though the original color and pattern had long been lost. It was simply gray now, its curving legs as rotted as the rest of this place. Coco gestured for Célie—who appeared paler than before, her hands knotted together in apprehension—to sit. “When I decided to hope regardless. My tears transformed it.”

Hope isn’t the sickness. It’s the cure.

Coco slipped her hands into Célie’s unbound hair next, surprising me yet again. Judging by the way Célie straightened, the way her eyes flew wide, Coco had surprised her too. She wove the black strands into a single plait down Célie’s back, tying the end with my ribbon, looping the emerald satin into a perfect bow. “You should both show your scars,” she murmured.

Célie dragged her braid across her shoulder to stare at it, fingering the tails of the ribbon in quiet wonder. Coco plopped her cheek atop my head, and her familiar scent—earthy yet sweet, like a freshly brewed cup of tea—engulfed me. “They mean you survived.”

The Oracle and the Sea Urchin

Lou

Clad in a gown of marigold chiffon with floral appliqué, each rose dark and glittering as gunpowder, I followed Eglantine through a labyrinth of passages that night. Coco walked beside me. Her own gown of ivory satin—slimmer in skirt than my own, with a fitted bodice and golden thread spun into delicate filigree—trailed behind us for miles. The dress of a true princesse. Célie glided forward on her other side, regal and elegant and completely in her element. The soft petal pink of her bodice brought color to her porcelain cheeks, and the crawling juniper vines adorning the skirt flattered her slender form.

We cut quite the striking figure, the three of us. More than one head turned as we passed.