Vials and vials of glass. Tens. Hundreds. And in each vial hopped a shining, silvery wish. Unbound. Unused. Straight from my lashes to Oma’s stockpile. I didn’t need to think of old painful memories now. The tears came freely. I let them fall to the wood beneath my knees and dissipate without being stored or used.

“Oma doesn’t even need me.” She had enough wishes to fund her markt booth and provide a comfortable living until the end of her days. I carefully sifted through the vials. The trunk was filled nearly to the brim with wishes. My tears. My sorrow that Oma sold for munten.

I recoiled from the bottles as though burned.

But the heat didn’t stop. It twisted around my chest like an anaconda, and before I considered my actions, I grabbed a handful and threw the vials against the wall, watching the glass shatter and the wishes perish. Again and again and again.

Only once the trunk was empty and the wall spattered did I take a breath and pause my fury. Blood smeared the palms of my hands and my trousers. I must have crushed a vial in my fist at some point.

Then I noticed light flickering off my hands, the exterior of the trunk, the floor. A shining golden light similar to but different from the bottled wishes. It was too golden to be from the fire. I looked for the source. A thin, glowing string wound around my ankle.

I knelt. My fingers passed right through it. The string was made of light. I felt nothing around my ankle, but no matter how I moved, the light string acted like a regular cord tied around me.

It led out of Oma’s door. Winter’s breath. Oma had used a wish to place a guard on the chest against theft. Of course she had! How long had the light string been around my ankle?

Confused panic inflamed my bones. Oma would be home any moment and I’d be caught. There would be no recovering from this. The day seemed destined to shatter what fragile threads remained of our relationship.

I couldn’t bring myself to feel sad about it.

Shuffling came from the entrance of the house. I left the trunk open and stood tall, bracing for Oma’s entrance. I had made these wishes. They belonged to me. It was time I stood up for my own Talent and worth.

The front door creaked open. I didn’t hear it shut. No voices. Tiptoeing. Maybe Oma thought I was asleep. No. She must see the cord of light by now and was following it.

I lifted my chin. “I’m in here.”

The face that emerged from the shadows and into the doorway stood two heads above Oma’s height. The lithe woman clothed in purple held a dagger in each white-knuckled fist.

Coralythe.