❝A heart's a heavy burden.❞

-Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones

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Rain clouds are what I see when I wake the next morning, a stark reminder of the season I'm stuck in. I know, with the winter, things will only get darker, but I may not live long enough to see the worst of it.

My nightmares were worse the previous night, to the point that I couldn't quite tell whether I was awake or sleeping. Everything was painful, and the remnants of my tossing and turning are still evident in the twisted sheets and throbbing pain in my head.

After Mor took me home, I went straight to bed in fear I'd have another waking panic attack. I'd said nothing to Macy, who I'd presumed would follow my instructions and go back home on her own. Now, it's roughly 7 AM, and I roll over to see my phone, sitting on my nightstand, glowing with several texts.

Six of them are from Macy:

omg lila

after the lanterns v told us everything

i had no idea

im so sorry!!!

r u ok?

:(

Two more are from Trevor:

Hey, veronica just told macy and i everything. I can't believe her. I mean, i do believe her, I just can't believe this.

I'm so sorry you had to deal with that.

And the last one is from my mother, completely off topic:

Would you rather me make chicken or pork for dinner on Tuesday?

Sighing, I toss the phone back on my bed. Part of me is relieved that Macy and Trevor actually care about how I feel, but the other, more dominant part of me is too confused by my own feelings to give them an answer.

I look down at my hands, and see they're still shaking. It seems that even when the nightmares are over, I can't stop the terror that comes with them.

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There's no hope for more sleep for me, so, in just my sweatpants and a Red Sox t-shirt, I drag myself downstairs. Mama is fast asleep, but Kat's already up - which I'm not surprised by. Early to bed and early to rise, and all that. She's standing near the sink, nimbly arranging strawberries on a bowl of oatmeal. Next to her, sitting on the polished pine counter, is Macy.

When she sees me, she perks up, and before I can even say her name, she exclaims, "Lila! Are you okay?"

"I'm... fine." I cock my head. Curiously, I ask, "What are you doing here?"

She gestures to my bag, sitting plainly on the kitchen peninsula. "I wanted to bring back your keys. And make sure you were okay."

My eyes widen. Usually, Macy isn't this responsible. Perhaps Kat is rubbing off on her. "Thanks, Mace. That's really thoughtful of you."

Macy beams, and hops off of the counter. For once, she isn't dressed up all artsy - her hair is in its natural curls, and she's wearing only a hoodie for cheer camp, tapered track pants, and beat-up black Converse with little sharpie doodles on the rubber. "Um," she starts, "I hope you're okay with this, but I told Kat everything Veronica said."

My sister and I lock eyes, and she gives me a look of pity over her spoonful of Quaker Instant. I know she's probably thinking I told you so somewhere in that pretty little mind of hers, but she keeps quiet. If she kicked me when I was down, she might as well be just as bad as Veronica, I suppose.

"That's okay," I say. "I just don't know what to do. The next time I see her at school, it's gonna be so... awkward."

Kat and Macy glance at each other solemnly. "Just ignore her. That's what I always do," my sister says, at the same time as Macy muses, "If only this were summer. We wouldn't have to deal with her again for another couple months... instead of a couple days. We'd have the whole summer to figure out how to feel."

If only it were summer? More like, if only this whole thing hadn't happened. If only Veronica hadn't been so foolish. If only Will was still alive.

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A week passes. Veronica is sparse at school, sticking to Jenna and Alexis, not daring to say a word to me - or to Macy, for the first time ever. Still, when we do make eye contact - which is usually in drama club, while practicing lines as Ophelia and Gertrude - I can see how miserable she is, and it makes me tense. Meanwhile, when she's not with her artsy friends or the cheer squad, Macy clings to my side, but it's not out of pity. I can see she's starting to resent Veronica just as much as I do. It's about time.

The first few days of October betray any feeling of Autumn. Storms lash at every window, the gloom never seeming to come to an end. The constant rumble of thunder and flash of lightning makes Ashdown seem like something out of a horror movie, a practical Twin Peaks for the rainy, dark fantasy field. It matches my mood well.

Every day, I hope that Mor will appear and take me somewhere exotic and strange and wonderful, an escape and a step closer to Will at the same time. But it's to no avail, because my reaper doesn't make another appearance until Friday the 6th, and when he does, it's not with plans of travel.

Much like that first evening, just home from school, I come into my room and find Mor perched on my desk like a black cat, flipping through some novel from my bookshelf. Without looking at me, he says, "This is a fascinating portrayal of mythology, but I'm quite insulted by how inaccurate it is. You had terrible taste in literature as a child, Miss Cabrera."

I twist my head to see the book is Son of Neptune by Rick Riordan, a book centered all around a quest to rescue Thanatos, god of death. "So," I humor him, "You're telling me Thanatos was never really trapped in chains of ice in Alaska?"

"The rest of the gods would never let that happen." Mor shakes his head and tosses the book so it lands lopsidedly on the desk. "However, your childhood literature is not what I came to discuss with you."

His voice is surprisingly grim, but I can tell it's more of an act than actual menace. He drifts off of the desk to come to stand in front of me, and for a moment, it's again almost identical to that first night, when my already warped life changed even further. Yet, this time... I feel no fear when Mor speaks to me. That is, until he says, "You have to talk to Veronica."

"What?!"

"Apparently, either your young self possessed psychic powers, or you've just fought with her many times over the years." To show me what he means, Mor brings out my list - sure enough, #8, written in blue glitter gel pen, reads, Make things right with Veronica.

I only vaguely remember my writing that. According to my fuzzy memory, it was after a school snowboarding trip in 8th grade, when Veronica and I got into a serious fight over who knows what. It doesn't matter why we were arguing, I just know that she and I didn't talk again until my birthday that May. How ironic that we just so happen to be in a similar predicament now, albeit much more severe.

To myself, I think, What the hell, 13-year old me? To Mor, I say, "I can't just... 'make things right'. What am I going to say to her? Oh, I forgive you for making terrible decisions that left me with PTSD and my boyfriend dead."

"You need to finish with the hypothetical dialogue, first," Mor instructs sternly, refiling the list in his suit jacket and tilting his head down at me. "And, second, I'm not telling you that you have to become best friends again. Just go, speak with her, find a common ground. Sometimes right doesn't mean you're happy - it just means things are balanced."

I feel like an anger-prone brat being given advice by her school guidance counselor, as if any minute I'll break out with a full tantrum and whine, BUT I DON'T WANNA! Trying to keep my frustration and anxiety under control, I try to barter: "Can we do this tomorrow or something? She's only a minute away, but it's raining, and do you really want me to have to walk in the freezing wet? I'll get a pneumonia and die early!"

The reaper looks at me darkly, and says, "I know how you're going to die, Lila, and it is not from a pneumonia."

He's not backing down. In fact, he seems more determined today - he has his arms crossed, and there's something steely is in his eyes, and I can't tell what it is. It doesn't scare me, not at all, now that I know how this whole process works. Still, it does make me slightly uncomfortable, so I slump and give in with a simple, "Fine. But you have to take me there."

"As you wish." Mor holds out his hand.

I don't want to have to do this. Before, when I considered making up with Veronica, it was so much more simpler. There was something there that could be salvaged, a reason for her passionate callousness towards me. Now that I know what that reason is, I feel like it's a lost cause.

Usually, I can base my decisions off of what Will would do. Will would've found a way to make peace with her before, but now... how can I say if he'd forgive her for involuntarily killing him? I can't just fly up to Heaven and ask him.

I hope I'm doing the right thing, Will, I pray. If I'm not, you'll forgive me, right?

I don't get an answer, of course, but I think I know what he'd say.

Reluctantly, I put my hand in Mor's. Feeling the leather curl around my palm, I shut my eyes-

And I'm there.

We're standing at the end of Veronica's drive, and Mor's holding an ebony umbrella over us both, blocking the moisture but not the icy cold. I give him a look, and he says, "Just because I'm a reaper doesn't mean I can get wet. Scythes rust easily, and if something happens to my scythe, it's all over."

I peer around him at the weapon in his right hand, safely tucked out of reach of the sleet, and then I look ahead again.

In the rain, 20 Fiddler's Elbow Road is notably less perky. The bushes of flowers whip around with the wind, and the puddles are building a miniature flood among the freshly-cut blades of grass. Endless drops of watery slush beat against the lone car in the driveway, Veronica's Volkswagen, showing that she's home and most likely alone. I can't tell, because in all the windows, the gossamer curtains are pulled shut tightly.

For a moment, I almost find myself being drawn back to when this place was my third home. The sight of blue skies, butterflies, flowers in full bloom, a sprinkler set up in the yard... the feeling of sprinting through the cool water in my Little Mermaid swimsuit, chasing after Will and Veronica, my feet sinking into the mud...

I think a tear falls down my cheek, but I tell myself it's just the rain.

Without another word, Mor and I make our way up the drive and down the walkway to the roofless front stoop. This close, I can see the crimson door hinges are rusty and the paint is starting to peel, and beside it, a dove has made its nest in the light. It seems that, just like it's inhabitant, the Lourdes' cute little Cape Cod isn't as perfect as it looks.

"Good luck," Mor tells me in a low voice. "Please try not to kill her."

I snort. "I'll try."

He hands me the umbrella, leans forward and presses the aching doorbell, and disappears all within the span of a few seconds. Before I know it, the door is swinging open, and the Ice Queen herself is standing there with an extremely astonished expression on her face.

Eyes wide, Veronica breathes, "Lila?"

"Veronica." Stiffly, I nod my head at her. "Can we talk?"

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A/N: Cliffhanger!

Anyway Wattpad's a mess and it's hard for me to update because of all the strange glitches lately, so I kind of lost track of my schedule. I don't know what day this will be updated on, but I'm gonna continue updating weekly anyway.

That being said, there might not be an update this week, because I have finals, which means there's a lot of schoolwork and studying I need to get done instead. But I'll try my best, I guess??

Stay awesome, y'all.

xoxo, Athena

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