Timothy

I lifted two bags of groceries onto the stone porch and searched my pocket for the keys.

It was nice meeting you, Timothy, please, cover for me again, will you?

The key slipped through my cold fingers and fell down to a bed of perennials underneath. I sighed and crouched on the steps to find them. Some part of me wished just then I would have been a vampire again. I wouldn't have needed the keys.

It was a wish that might become reality sooner than I was prepared for.

I fished the keys among yellow leaves. And got home.

The thing about fine autumn days was that they tended to be cold. So when warm air rushed to meet me, I smiled despite myself.

A few days ago I had left Julia at a metro station near where Lavender lived. The demon who claimed not to be a demon had smiled and waved at me when I had continued on to drop Hellebore his belongings.

"Had an interesting visit to the Witches?" the blind man had asked.

Somehow The Fair Marquise had been empty when I came. Just me, Hellebore himself and the huge white dog, for which the shop had been named.

"It was more eventful than I would have optimally wished. I... I ran into someone I had met before."

"You don't seem overjoyed," Hellebore urged.

"Mmm... I... She is complicated."

"Oh. That she is. But aren't all the interesting people? Tea?"

I hadn't asked Hellebore if it was somehow his doing that I had ended up meeting Julia. Somehow I felt certain of it. I hadn't been sent on an errand to collect some items anyone could have gotten for the alchemist. I had been sent to meet Julia. Maybe even to protect Julia.

I also probably should have asked Hellebore who she was. Even what she was. But I hadn't. The end date of my own human life seemed to have quenched some of my natural human curiosity.

She was who and what she was. Mo wanted her alive. She was under the vampires' protection. And if the witches felt differently, it really was none of my business. Because in this play I was essentially still a vampire... Or at least naturally on their side. I had chosen them once, and I hadn't really chosen any other side since.

And now Mo was reclaiming my life anyway as vampire property.

Like she was claiming the house. Had maybe already signed the contracts.

Suddenly I felt bone weary tired. I left the groceries in the downstairs hall, took the gym bag with me and went upstairs.

Some impulse made me continue down the hallway to Plume's room that had been my parents'.

The vampire rested immoble on the covers. He had lain there like that already for two days. The bed creaked as I sat on the edge and then lay flat onto my back beside him. Plume didn't care. He continued his dead slumber. As long as I didn't think of anything threatening, he wouldn't stir. And if I did, he might strangle me to death without ever waking up. Plume might not actually even become aware of himself tonight at all. His medication had come with side effects.

I patted the vampire on his side.

I tried to close my eyes and rest, but odd thoughts kept intruding.

...Never came back...

Why, Mimosa, why? What did it mean that I hadn't come back? That there had been no hope for me ever to be content with just being human. Which was, of course, true.

But if I became a vampire again, and this time disappeared into the night for good, with no backward glances...

The thought felt bittersweet.

I opened my eyes and gazed at the open door to the upstairs corridor. The PlayStation gathered dust in the other room that had been Mimosa's. And the games wouldn't cost that much. Not the ones made by the small Lagopus Studios. I smiled for my little secret. I had never told Mimosa I had bought every game her studio had made.

With the Court's money.

I had bought all the games of my sister's studio, with the vampire funds.

 My smile died, replaced by a frown.

To distract myself, I searched the gym bag for the book I had snatched from the Witch Town, the one that I had taken to settle the debt that the old witch had owed me for disturbing my shopping. It had stayed at the bottom of the bag since that day. Seeping in sweat.

I felt suddenly angry at witches in general.

So arrogant. They, in their little Town. Surrounded by all the magic and leisure of time, looking down on humanity and cursing vampires for moraless beasts. The vampires that actually lived with the humans in their city and by human rules. If Clover could see through the eyes of a vampire for just a day...

Or even through the eyes of a real mortal human being.

I weighed the book in my hand.

It wasn't a big book. More or less the size of an average paperback. But it had a wooden cover with hidden hinges attaching the covers to the spine. A beautiful, intricate tree had been engraven into the front plate. A maple, perchance?

I traced the pattern with a finger. It was a beautiful, artful piece. Like most witch made objects were. There was something oddly familiar about it. I could have sworn I had seen it before. I couldn't say where though. The exact memory eluded my groping mind.

The feeling resembled the sensation you got when you couldn't bring magical events to mind.

Some kind of an enchantment maybe?

I lay back down onto the bed, supporting my head against Plume's stomach. It provided a relatively soft surface against my neck.

The first page I opened was gibberish. I didn't understand a word written between symbols and odd colorful pictures. The next spread was equally incomprehensible.

I had flipped maybe a dozen pages until I understood the first word. It was in Atlantean. But an older form of the word for corpse.

I looked at the page again, and realized I could read most words written on it if I concentrated and accepted the fact that the language wasn't modern. There were phrases that were incomprehensible, but I could get the gist of it. Basically, the spread told of a ritual done in new moon that allowed a soul to be transplanted into a corpse. A picture on the next page seemed to support my interpretation. It was like a small oil painting, where the man's corpse lay on an altar in a European cathedral.

I flipped a few pages back.

Mmm.

Apparently it was possible to store life force in mushrooms which could then be ingested to expand one's life. They were hard to grow though and required a human liver for plantation. And not just that, but the liver of someone who was alive during the harvesting.

A few pages forward and I found out about a warm infusion that could give a witch a solid sense of time. And even the ability to somehow travel in time. The list of ingredients was long and included the mushroom that grew on human liver, and vampire venom, merfolk essence.

Some kind of a black magic handbook?

Though that didn't seem right somehow. The texts I could read seemed less like instructions and more like a depiction of something that had happened. As if the writer had been present when these magic rituals were invented.

The text became harder to read the closer I came to the start. And easier to understand the further down I proceeded. As if one spread had been written every few decades, or so.

A collection of rituals and herbs from different centuries, then.

I soon discovered the book wasn't complete either. A third of the pages at the back shone blank.

The last spread was written in neat print letters, in very legible modern Atlantean. And contrasted distinctly against the previous handwritten entries.

The title had something that drew my attention:

The Man made of Earth

For a moment I looked at the page so surprised I almost forgot to breathe. I drew in a hasty breath, was about to choke on saliva and used the next minute trying to clear my respiratory tract.

I opened the spread again.

Once he was a man, made of flesh and bone. But he was a man with a thirst for blood golden like the sunrise. And what had been flowing, changing sap, became immortal amber. His body died, replaced by an old curse.

He wasn't content with this magic and sought to replace one curse by another. He found a sorcerer more powerful than the one who had made the vampire blood. And an old alchemist, older than one would guess.

Out of swamp waters they crafted a human shaped vessel for an immortal soul. A cursed core was draped in organic flesh. One debt was paid, another just opened, and the one holding all the favors was rich indeed.

Many before him had tried to salvage their souls and hide it in the earth, and none had succeeded.  For what soul can live in a vessel not meant to hold it?

And even when this try was blessed, where would this soul go? Not a vampire anymore. Discontent with the humanity. And never a witch. This anomaly had no place in the Queen's city.

And, of course, after all the trouble, he cannot be made a vampire. For the flesh isn't his, and would burn too fast away to ashes with the vampire blood that is cruel for those it dislikes.

I closed the book.

Opened it again.

The pages were still there.

My eyes drifted back to the last sentence.

...would burn too fast away to ashes...

For the flesh isn't his...

His. The whole chapter started once he was a man. The text wasn't at all ambiguous of the detail that the one going through the changes was male. This chapter was about a man that had been a vampire.

A chill traveled through me. What was this object I was holding?

Unwillingly, feeling hypnotized, I turned my eyes to the second page on the spread, the last written page on the whole book.

There was a list of all the ingredients the powerful sorcerer had used in creating this lifeform. If it was complete I wouldn't remember. I also decided I lived happier not knowing all that might have been included, so I hurried on to the last lines of this tale:

He didn't live long between worlds. For the witches burned the doubly cursed flesh, and the Queen nodded her agreement, while a human was to collect the enchanted core left behind.

In this final death all ties to both vampires and humans were cut loose. Giving the memory of his existence back to gods and letting his weary bones rest. Allowing the magic trapped inside to finally roam free and find new patterns.

He was a man made of earth. And to the soil soon returned. Waiting for the rebirth of a new spring.

I stared at the words, feeling bewildered.

My anger towards the witches experienced a new height.

"What?!" I asked the book. "What is that supposed to mean! What do you mean by that? The witches haven't burnt me!?"

I was livid. A book told me to abandon all hope and jump off the roof. As if it weren't enough that the Queen had dictated she would end my human life one way or another. But that I couldn't become a vampire either? And that my body was so cursed it would be burnt? With Mo watching the act? Now that... that was... just...

My pillow moved weakly.

I hastily took my head off Plume's lap.

"Uncle?"

I closed the book and laid it onto the pillow.

Plume's voice was low. His eyes were half open. He lifted a hand in a slow dreamy motion.

"Morning," I told him. "You weren't really here when the evening meal was served, sorry you missed it."

Plume was silent. He looked at me. Waited.

I sobered.

"You aren't waking up tonight either, are you?"

"No, uncle. I don't think so. But I need a favor." Plume's voice was silent, his words slow.

His eyes unfocused to the ceiling.

I nodded. "What can I do for my favorite nephew?"

The corners of his mouth twitched.

"I need you to buy some flowers for me, take them to my sister. My human sister. Tomorrow is her birthday. I never forget."

A tear traced a path down a pale porcelain cheek.

I laid a hand to his chest. And wiped the tear to a thumb. It evaporated as I withdrew my hand.

"Of course," I said. "I am not cruel. I will take the flowers to her. Just give me an address." I would go to the other side of Atlantis for such a delivery. For my nephew.

But Plume was gone. He had fallen back to a dead silence. The lids closed over his red gaze.

I sighed.

"And how am I supposed to find out now?" I asked the immobile form.

It didn't stir.

I rose and walked to the corner where his huge bag lay with his silly wooden high heels. I glanced at the vampire, but Plume didn't seem instinctively protective of his luggage.

I upended the contents onto the bed beside the sleeping vampire.

Clothes, classy clothes, some jewelry, a few notes, something that looked like a personal diary, a ballpoint, a tablet, a phone and a small black booklet.

A passport.

I stared at the last object a bit incredulous. A fraud? Or a memento of his human life? A family name would lead me to a start in search of his sister.

Supposing the sister was still alive. But even then, finding a grave was a lot easier with a name.

I flipped open the travel document. It was modern and up to date. Complete with a fingerprint. A fraud then. The small black and white image looked like Plume. But it looked like someone human too.

I squinted at the picture. There were irregularities to the skin the vampire didn't possess. The nose was askew too. Plume's nose however was perfectly straight as the vampire's curse seemed to balance the body evenly. Someone had had to make the image from scratch. Why go through the trouble of adding all those unnecessary details the model didn't have?

But there were the family names I had been searching for.

Good. Now if I were lucky, I might find out who the sister was, with the generous help of Google.

Valentina

"I am so sorry," I said to the professor. "I just don't know what's gotten into me. I am usually good with academic work. But with this Master's thesis, time has just flown away, and I don't honestly know where."

"I am sorry," I repeated.

Professor Scale Tongue shook her head. "It's fine, Valentina. I can remove you from this year's group and assign you to a group that starts in the spring, if you want. But you aren't too late yet to start either. Whichever feels right to you. But if you are under pressure now, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to give some extra time for ideas to form."

Scale Tongue smiled at me.

We were seated in her tiny little office. It rained outside her window. I had lowered my eyes to the desk that stood between us. The portrait of her twin brother looked at me from the table. I had now seen it so many times, I almost felt like I had actually met the guy.

It was a shame he had disappeared.

"I don't know," I said silently. "I don't feel like there is too much on my plate really."

I sighed and lifted my head to meet her eyes.

"I am confused. I don't know what is wrong. Maybe I really need to postpone the thesis a bit. If it..."

A tentative knock interrupted me.

I turned to look at the door.

"I am occupied!" Scale Tongue raised her voice.

A short silence. Then:

"This won't take long."

"Valentina, could you...?" Scale Tongue asked.

I rose. And opened the door.

Timothy peered in.

"Hi, Valentina," he greeted me with an embarrassed smile. He was carrying an impressive umbrella, and a huge bouquet of flowers in all colors.

"Hi, professor Scale Tongue," he greeted the woman behind my back.

"And happy birthday. Your brother asked me to bring these."

My jaw dropped.

Scale Tongue invited him in.

"You are White Torch, aren't you?" Scale Tongue asked.

Timothy nodded. He was still holding the bouquet.

"I started a minor in French this semester. I only attend French Phonology and Introduction to Literature this autumn. Your Introduction to Literature. I'll take the rest next year. Can I just leave these here?"

"Sure." The professor took the flowers. "Do you work for the flower shop?"

"No..." Timothy said, "Your brother was just feeling unwell and asked me to bring you a small gift. He asked me to bring flowers. So I chose them at a nearby florist's. Is there something wrong with them?"

He glanced at my direction suddenly, as if he had felt my utter amazement. I knew that the professor herself hadn't talked with her brother for years.

"Nothing. They are perfect. Is my brother ill?"

Timothy shrugged. "Nothing lethal. He'll make a full recovery in no time."

"So you have seen him?"

Timothy opened his mouth. Closed it. He and Scale Tongue looked at each other.

Suddenly Timothy's gaze traveled down. I followed it. But there were just the professor's shoes, a bit of an odd pair of wooden high heels.

He lifted his head up again. And suddenly something changed. Timothy became something else. He became less a student and more... more something else.

"I have never seen your brother."

It was such an obvious lie, I couldn't comprehend why Timothy bothered saying it.

But no... it wasn't just a lie. It was obvious for a reason...

Or so I felt.

As if Timothy was inviting Scale Tongue to contradict him.

All three of us stood very still.

"Could I send a message with you, Timothy?" The professor asked into the thick silence.

Timothy nodded.

"Tell him... Tell him to bring the next flowers to my grave."

Timothy's eyes widened a fraction. But he had an excellent poker face. Had he always been so good at masking his true feelings? How hadn't I ever seen this side of him before? I felt as if faced by a foreign person I had never met.

He bowed. And it was a deeper and more elegant a bow than I had ever seen him perform at the edge of a dojo. But he didn't lower his gaze while performing the gesture. Timothy's eyes were locked to the professor.

"I am sure," he said, as he rose, "that you won't mind, if I find it impossible to deliver such a message."

"He seems dear to you." Scale Tongue's voice tightened around the words.

Timothy let a humorless smile, a real expression, shine through his mask.

"Like a favorite nephew."

In the next moment I found myself outside the office with Timothy.

"I suppose it could have gone better," Timothy said thoughtfully. His face had returned to normal expressiveness. He was wearing a frown.

"Have you really talked to her twin?" I asked.

Timothy glanced at the door, then led me further down the corridor and into the stairs where we mingled with dozens of other students.

"Yes, Valentina, I have talked to him. I do it all the time. And you have met him too. You just refuse to remember it."

Suddenly he hugged me tightly. I responded to the gesture a bit bewildered.

"Are you ok?" I asked him when he released me.

He was still holding a hand on my shoulder.

"I am good. Just... just please try to remember. Me. And Plume. And Blizzard."

He tapped my shoulder lightly and released his grip.

"I am going now to return my books to the library. Goodbye?"

He dashed away and left me standing in the stairway.

I was about to start my way down to the gym, when a man stopped me in my tracks. He was tall, lean and light haired, with a short, trimmed beard.

"Valentina?" he asked.

I looked at the man, confused.

"I am Clover's Uncle, the head of Folklore studies. I would like to know if you have seen Clover recently."

I was taken by surprise. I shook my head.

"Thank you. I need you at my office in the evening."

Then he went.

I was left blinking in the staircase surrounded by a stream of students.

What had that been about?

Clover

I was starting to suspect my phone was cursed.

I had just descended down to the corridor of Uncle Aconite's office, when it rang.

Very carefully, I fished it out of a pocket. This time the caller wasn't Timothy.

"Hi, Fern!" I greeted the elder that was my grandmother.

"Dear little Clover. Could you do me a favor?"

I felt my lips parting. A favor? For Granny Fern? Me?

"Of course!" I felt elated, but also a bit suspicious. I wasn't usually the one Fern asked first. "If there is something I can do for you."

"This is perfect for you, child. Since you study at the university, I wish you to keep an eye out for two people. I am not sure if they are students, but if you do see them around, it would go a long way."

Not so exciting then. I sighed internally.

"Sure. What am I looking for?"

"The man should be easy to find. I actually sent someone to his house. His name is Timothy White Torch. Medium height, brown hair, nothing remarkable, except absolutely colorless eyes."

My heart skipped a beat. What had Timothy done?

"I wish you also to look for a blond young woman named Lavender, possibly, if that is her real name. Whatever real means in this context. But I am more interested in the man right now. For some reason the vampire Queen has given him all the vampire credentials in the Town's logs. He can draw an unlimited credit from the vampire funds. Just last week he bought a book with that credit."

I had stopped in the middle of the corridor. My heart was racing. The phone really was cursed.

"What do you think is going on?" I asked.

"What I think," the elder said, "is that Timothy is Alfonso Moura, the father of demons."

"What!?"

Alfonso Moura. The corridor felt suddenly very small. Even when I was sure Timothy wasn't Moura. I knew it. I had heard Hellebore explaining how the boy had been a vampire...

Yes. I had heard Hellebore give credit to Timothy's explanation. But Hellebore was the last man to be trusted with anything concerning Alfonso Moura, because they had been friends for centuries.

"He should now be around the age of forty," Fern was explaining to the phone. "Since the last incarnation died in 1981. But it doesn't mean he would need to appear that age. It has been curious that we haven't heard of him for such a long time. He might be planning something... interesting."

It was a well known fact that Fern disliked Moura. They had known for a short while the last time the immortal had been on earth. Alfonso Moura wasn't a witch. But there were many types of magic he could command despite the fact. And he caused changes. And was generally considered mad. A mad magician with immense power to craft any change he felt necessary.

He couldn't be killed permanently, for once his current body died, he would surface again in twenty years, being born anew. For unlike a demon that possessed a new body, the body of someone living, Moura would be reborn. Every other time a man, every other a woman. The female reincarnations tended to be short ones. The males tended to outlive the natural human life cycle and die murdered. The last time it had been a woman.

And although Timothy didn't look like Alfonso, if he was older than what he appeared, then it wouldn't be a far fetched idea for him to have dyed his hair. And there was something odd in his eyes.

But then again...

"I'll look into it," I promised Fern. "I think I know them."

"Oh!"

I hung up.

But then again.

Lavender had strikingly blue eyes, light hair and European features. She also suffered from memory losses and odd nightmares she refused to talk about. Like if she were experiencing memories from other lifetimes.

And Fern had mentioned her.

I knew she was too young. And a woman. And most apparently not fully aware of herself.

What if what had her wasn't a demon? That would explain much. Why Valentina was suddenly marked. Why Timothy had been silenced.

And why Uncle Aconite hadn't talked of the demon possession to Fern. If Aconite had guessed Lavender was Moura reborn, he might have thought he could use the situation to his advantage.

But why would Aconite think so? Even Fern was thinking the incarnation should be male.

I frowned.

Maybe I should talk to Fern about this before presenting all of this information to her son. After all, Fern was an elder.

My feet stayed plastered to the ground.

Uncle Aconite had always looked after me. When I had felt I was left outside the magical community, there had always been Aconite, who had time to discuss my wishes and dreams. Aconite who bought me science magazines. Aconite who had suggested I attend a human university. Who had helped me with preparing for an entrance exam.

"Clover?"

The office door was open. Aconite was peering to the corridor.

"So good to see you! Please, come in. Let's talk about what is weighing down your heart."

I couldn't really bolt and run. Could I? And Valerian's ghost had counseled me to take the opportunity to talk with Aconite.

So I went into the office.

And immediately, once Aconite closed the door, I knew I had made a grave mistake.

Aconite had a fairly big office as offices went. There were two chairs facing his table. Both of them occupied.

The lock clicked behind my back.

"Hi, Clover," Lavender greeted me joyfully.

Valentina had a confused smile on her face.

I looked at Lavender. She was smiling a confident smile that didn't belong to my friend.

Aconite had taken a stool for himself and was gesturing for me to take his work chair.

Gingerly, I seated myself.

"What is going on?" I asked my uncle, my gaze drifting to Lavender's smile.

"A small inconvenience has occurred," Aconite said. There was a teapot on the table. Mist rose in white tendrils and curled around Aconite's fingers as he lifted the pot to pour me a cup. He also refilled the three other cups on the table.

Lavender took hers confidently.

Valentina was wearing a frown. She didn't reach out for a cup.

"You see," Aconite was saying, "Fern didn't call me. Not yesterday. Nor today. Which is nothing new in itself. Sometimes the elder is busy."

He heaved out a long sigh.

"But this morning I heard from a third person," he gestured at Lavender, "of events that took place in The Great Star a few days ago. And if Fern didn't seek me out at the university, it was because she sought out her granddaughter instead. Which is very unfortunate. Because you are the only other person that has all of the pieces."

I took the cup in shaking fingers. It was warm and smelled of cinnamon. I took a sip.

There was sadness in my Uncle's voice when he said: "You haven't come to see me in a while, Clover. I have been thinking about it. I went to talk to my brother yesterday. It seems we both preferred a ghost's counseling. A bit sad, don't you think?"

"What did Valerian tell you?" I asked.

Aconite spread his arms. "Just that you had been there. He also said we should figure this out between ourselves."

At least my father's ghost had given us the same piece of advice.

"So," I started shakily, "What pieces do I have?"

I looked directly at Lavender. My hands were shaking, my pulse was high, but at least my eyes looked where I commanded.

She tossed her ponytail in a gesture I had never seen Lavender use before.

"Make a guess," she said. "What pieces do you have? And what did the cursed Fern Shatter Hat add to the pile of evidence?"

"You are not a demon," I said out loud. I felt my pulse slowing. The truth.

"Thank gods! At least someone believes me! I have actually told Timothy I am not. And he won't believe me!"

"You have talked with Timothy?" I asked, taken aback. And cursing myself for a fool.

Timothy had told me he would side with vampires. Of course I shouldn't have felt surprised. If Timothy had been present when... when the memories of Alfonso Moura surfaced, then of course he wouldn't tell a witch of those encounters.

"How are you a woman?" I asked. I was calming to the new situation. My hands had ceased to shake.

She smiled. "So you did draw all the threads together."

I smiled calmly. Yes I had, hadn't I? I lifted the cup and took a long gulp of the warm tea Aconite had served.

She sobered. "But unfortunately, I am clueless as of yet. It would seem I might have died in an accident in my last life, before I recovered this identity. It hasn't happened before."

"A mystery worth solving with time, once you can remember who you are for more than a few hours at a time," Aconite said. There was fondness in his voice I hadn't expected to hear.

"No, wait," I said, looking from one to the other, "why haven't you told Fern?"

Aconite shook his head. "Because, I strongly suspect Fern would consider her a threat to the Witches' community." He shifted his gaze to Lavender when he continued: "As I remember it, you did mention something about forcing humans to fear magic again... Or something similar."

Lavender rested her chin on her hands thoughtfully. "No. As I remember it, I just said we should make it a priority to teach everyone on Atlantis to remember magical beings. I meant mainly fairies and vampires. Though, in theory that would include witches as well."

She swirled a spoon in the cup she hadn't touched.

"Now, I do think people would react with fear. But that's just my best prediction of the matter."

Her mouth drew into a straight line.

"I think I won't stay conscious for too long anymore. I am leaving." She rose.

"Wait!" I said.

Lavender... Alfonso turned. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

"So there is no way for Lavender to stay herself? You are going to just substitute her personality?"

To my surprise, she looked troubled.

"No," she said. "No, it isn't that simple. Whatever you love in Lavender will always be right here, in me. But there is so much more to me that you might find it a difficult task to dig it out."

She lifted Lavender's bag.

"Plus. Once I catch the truth of what happened to the male reincarnation, I think I will find my way to the next life."

"What?"

I felt confused.

She shrugged. "I just don't fancy womanhood. It's complicated. See you."

She put her hand to the handle.

I had seen the vampire, Plume, open a locked door easily and without losing breath.

But Lavender started suddenly humming. Or singing. I wasn't sure. At one point I thought I heard a Spanish word I recognized. But I thought it was Spanish just because I knew Alfonso Moura was Spanish.

Then I wasn't sure I heard real words for a long time.

Through my glasses I saw maybe the smallest amount of glowing mass concentrating around the lock. But it might have been my imagination.

I heard the click.

She stopped singing and pushed the handle down.

She didn't close the door behind her.

I emptied my cup.

"I think I need some space to think about this."

I pushed myself up.

The room tilted sideways. I sought the table. Missed. And was caught by Valentina who laid me gently to rest on the floor.

I was suddenly certain no one else had touched their cups.

"It's good, Clover. It is all good."

The voice was Aconite's. He had conjured up a syringe.

My eyes followed the needle when he approached and crouched by my side.

"This won't hurt one bit."

And it didn't.

I wanted to ask what he had injected into me, but I found my eyes unfocusing.

"You'll be fine, little lovely Clover." Aconite's voice. "I am now making all choices a bit easier for you. Don't worry. It will all be good. Everything will be better than well once you wake up. I will just take these. I don't think you will ever have them back. But don't worry, I will be holding onto them, just in case. After all, she does want everyone to remember."

The last I felt was his hands brushing away the weight of my glasses.

"It will all be better when you wake up."

And I wondered if he was trying to sooth me, or convince himself.

Then I thought nothing.