Page 86 of These Godly Lies
Settling back into the life she once cherished takes longer than Anna expected.
For as much as Jiro tried to keep things the same, it doesn’tchange the fact thatsheis changed. Sometimes she’ll prepare a meal, the hilt of the kitchen knife pressed into her palm, and she’ll remember how blood had spilled over her hands and the terror that had seized her heart. Last week, when Jiro helped her burn some of the waste from the garden, she had to fight to hide the way her body shook in front of the flames, the burns on her hand twinging with painful memories. Considering the concern she saw in his dark eyes, she’s not entirely convinced that she succeeded.
In the garden, the pit has sprouted.
Its leaves uncurl and soak up the last offerings of summer, reaching up on a spindly trunk towards the open sky above it. It’s already as tall as Anna, growing faster than her eyes can keep up. Some days it feels like it’s gained a month of growth in a single afternoon. Whenever she feels shaken by old fears and past regrets, Anna takes a seat beside it and admires its green foliage with a gentle hand. It helps ground her; reminds her of the hope they’ve earned and the pain they’ve escaped.
Somehow, the threat of The First still lingers despite knowing it’s no longer real. Anna worries that Khiran must feel it, too. When summer wanes into fall, the colors of the landscape turn warm and vibrant beneath its cool touch. It’s beautiful—just like she remembers—but it means they’ve been home for months, and his face still looks gaunt. His skin still pale in ways that suggest sickness.
He’s not gaining weight.
Anna starts adding more fat, more butter, more cream, to their meals. She can see the effects of it in the heaviness of her breasts and the softness of her hips and thighs, but when she explores the dips and valleys of his body at night, his ribs read like braille beneath her fingers, spelling out her failures.
She thinks of his beginnings. Thinks of the night they spoke of memories carried and memories left behind.
I came into Eira’s care because I was unwanted. I never knew why—I was too young to understand.
He didn’t understand then, but Anna does now.
There are days he spends more hours sleeping than awake. Days where his muscles ache and swell even when he’s done nothing towarrant the stiffness. For all of Anna’s experience, all her knowledge, she can’t name what ails him, but she knows with a certainty that echoes in the hollow of her chest like a nightmare that his frailty was the reason for his abandonment. He was the mouth not worth feeding. The child they didn’t expect to live.
She wonders if he’s come to the same realization she has.
The bathroom mirror is shattered.
Jagged pieces lay scattered in the pedestal sink, shining against the white enamel. On the floor, shards wink up at her like sharp confetti. With the way the evening light shines in from the window, tiny reflections cast out like stars around the room. It would almost be beautiful.
Almost.
There’s blood dripping from sharp fragments, smearing across the mirrored surface like a stain. It matches Khiran’s knuckles.
She calls his name, soft with concern and lined with questions.
He doesn’t look up.
“It’s not me.” His voice is serrated at the edges. Raw. “This face. This body. It’s not right. I can’t—I’mtrapped. I’m trapped in this form that isn’t of my choosing and Idon’t know the person staring back.”
Anna doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to fix it.
She thinks of Silas, of how he feels lost in a world that no longer whispers in his ear. Thinks of Malik and the way his anger bled away until all that was left was fear. Cassius, who’s having to learn how to trust a world he can’t seduce. Kaia, who lives by the ocean she can no longer call home. Each and every one of them are struggling to adjust to mortal life the same way Khiran was forced to.
A life of less. Less power. Less magic.
Somehow, Anna knows that’s not the reason why there are shards of mirror littering the floor. The blood branching across theback of his hand and dripping into the sink isn’t for feeling lost in the world, but being lost within himself.
Stepping into the tiny bathroom, pieces of mirror splintering beneath her slippers, Anna wraps her arms around his waist. Forehead resting between his bony shoulder blades, she can feel the way his breath hitches a moment before his uninjured hand covers hers. His thumb brushes over the ring on her left hand like a worry stone.
“Let’s pick up some hair dye when we go into town tomorrow,” she says, turning her head and pressing her cheek to his back so she can hold him closer.
One breath, two, before he answers, “What?”
She closes her eyes, wets her lips. “Last time I was at the drugstore, it seemed like there were a lot of different options for the home dye kits. Maybe you could try one out, if you’d like.” Her fingers curl into the cotton of his shirt. “I know it’s not—I can’t give you back what you’ve lost. What I’ve taken—”
“Don’t,” he commands, turning in her arms until he’s facing her. His palms cradle her face. She can feel his blood against her skin, wet on her cheek. “This isn’t your fault.”
Don’t shoulder blame that isn’t yours.
“This isn’t that.” She takes a lock of dark blonde hair between her fingers. “You’re still Khiran to me. You always have been, no matter the form you take. But if wearing this face hurts you, it hurtsme,too.” His hair slips through her fingers and she traces the shape of his low brow before resting her palm on the hollow of his cheek. “Our happiness, our burdens, we share them. Remember?”
