I close my eyes, tempted to leave without a word. But I can't seem to move. I can't look at her. And I can't be away from her. She truly is the slowest, deadliest form of poison.

The silence stretches between us, until finally, she asks the question on her mind.

"Have you come to take your fill of me again?"

"No," I bite out.

Against my better judgment, I turn to face her, placing the candle on her nightstand. She's peeking up at me with tired eyes, hair strewed across her pillow like strands of silk. I reach out and smooth them away from her face, my dark mood casting a shadow as I study her.

"It's a shame what you’ve done.”

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"Just remember when you look upon yourself next week, loathing your own reflection in the mirror, you only have yourself to blame."

She flinches, yanking away from my touch as she curls into herself protectively. "What are you talking about?"

"I told you there would be punishment for your sins," I answer. "And it will be equal to your crime."

She chokes back a quiet sob and shakes her head, reaching out for my hand again. "Please don't be cruel. You don't have to do this. It doesn't have to be this way."

"But it does." I pull my fingers from her grasp, feeling the loss of her warmth immediately. "You determined this course the day you decided to betray me."

I head for the door as she calls after me, desperation coloring her voice. "Please, just look at me. I know you want to. I know you are capable of listening, if you could just let go of this hatred for one minute—”

"Go to sleep," I command. "Your physical therapy begins tomorrow."

"Physical therapy?" she echoes in confusion.

I offer her one last fleeting glance.

"To ensure the safety of my child," I answer coldly.

13

Ivy

I don’t sleep after he leaves. It’s been four weeks since the poisoning. I only know because I start my period again. I don’t know how long I was in that cellar, but I guess I’ve been locked in here for at least two of those weeks.

I’m just glad I don’t have to ask for tampons. I’d hidden some in a tissue box the last time.

This morning when Antonia comes, she unlocks the closet door and chooses clothes for me, a pair of jeans and an oversized lilac sweater that feels luxuriously soft against my skin, especially after spending so much time naked. So much time feeling cold and alone, both in the cellar and in this room.