The walls bow outward away from us, the ceiling bends and drifts away, the snow outside the window and my small wooden bed are watercolor blurs at the edge of my vision. I feel my heart slow, as time stalls like a single drop at the tip of a leaf, waiting to fall, to shatter apart on the ground below. My room expands and I’m certain I’ve been here before, felt Oliver’s lips on mine, kissed him just like this.

I draw my mouth away from his.

My lungs burn.

I press my palms to his chest, for balance, to keep from sinking to the floor. To keep time from wheeling away from me.

Something is happening that I don’t understand.

His eyes shiver open—as if waking—emerald eyes and full lips and I know I could drown in him if I let myself. I could vanish. And it feels like a tale from a book. Rosy cheeks and forever kisses and sunsets that last and last and last. Where there is no heartache and no death. No tears making rivers at your feet.

But this is not that tale.

His throat shivers before he speaks, his fingers falling away from my hair, careful and slow. “It’s late,” he says gently. “You should sleep.” But he’s peering into me, his gaze refusing to let go.

Words bloom in my throat and press against my lips. But I don’t let them out because they are the wrong words. Dangerous words. Frail, breakable things that I won’t be able to take back. And sleep tugs at me, exhaustion like a black hole.

He looks just as weary—a darkness in him that needs rest. “So should you,” I say.

“I’ll stay awake,” he answers, eyes still soft and lidded. “I’ll keep watch.”

Little sparks rise across my skin—a feeling I can’t trust. But one I don’t know how to ignore. We see heartache coming from a mile away, Grandma would say. But we don’t know how to step out of the way.

The snow softens outside, only a few flakes whirling against the glass, and I crawl into bed—sinking gratefully into my pillow. I’m still wearing all my clothes—just in case. In case I have to wake suddenly, kick back the blankets, and run from the house.

In case the boys come for me.

Spellbook of Moonlight & Forest Medicine

HENRIETTA WALKER came into the world on a hot summer night during a strawberry moon. She was the youngest of four girls. And she was the loudest.