The First Day

  I gasped for breath as I woke up in the inn. The bed was soaked, like the water that killed me had traveled back with me. But the way my hair stuck to my head revealed the truth. It was salty and thick. Sweat rather than water from any spell. I supposed I’d always assumed the loop started when I woke up, but if I’d managed to sweat this much, I realized it must start while I was asleep, and I simply woke up at the same time on that day. I’d never sweat through the sheets before, no matter how violent my death had been. Then again, those had only been death, pain, and failure.

  I’d never killed an innocent man before.

  I took deep breaths through my nose. I wanted to count my way out of bed. I wanted to count the floorboards, or watch the familiar insect crawl across the ceiling. I wanted to work myself into action, as I had been doing for so long. I also wanted to sit up and rush out the door to fix what I had done. That seemed like the more noble thing to do. But I still didn’t feel like my body was entirely my own. I needed to stop shaking before I could help anyone. So I decided on the best middle ground I could manage. I forced myself to sit up, then I slid out of the bed and sat down on the floor. I didn’t bother with my hair ribbon. My hair was even filthier than usual, and it really needed it. But the ribbon was slick with sweat too, and I just couldn’t care at that moment. I let the hair fall around my shoulders, and I put my aura into bringing Margaret back.

  As soon as her body of aura had fully materialized, I stared at her, and she tried to get her bearings.

  “What happened?” she asked. “It didn’t work?” I took several sharp, trembling breaths. I tried to answer her—until I realized I’d start sobbing if I did. So I rested one hand on the bed and pulled myself to my feet. I was shaky, but determined, and I was able to make it to my bag. I went digging for the cleanest clothes I could find. I didn’t have the energy to waste time on a bath, or even washing my hair. But I needed to be something approaching presentable when I helped the girls and brought Harrison to look after them again.

  It helped. Just having something to focus on. I was finally able to speak without breaking down.

  “We need to go back to your uncle’s mansion. To the Cross estate,” I answered. Margaret walked toward me as I tossed the new outfit on the floor. I pulled my soaked clothes off as she spoke.

  “Why? What happened with Luke? It looked like you managed it, but… I just stopped. While your spell was still active, I stopped existing. I didn’t see what happened next,” she pushed.

  “I made a mistake,” I responded quietly.

  “Then we try again! You beat him so easily last time! One more try and–” she started.

  “I was afraid to admit it. When you first showed up. I was terrified to respond the way I wanted to,” I said, cutting her off. “Margaret… I hate being around you. I can’t stand it. It hurts so much. I remember every time you broke my bones. I remember every time you tore my skin and bloodied the dirt with my body. Worse than that, I remember how scared Junia and Millie were. How desperately Harrison had to fight to protect those children from you. I remember how much harm you are capable of, and I hate it.”

  Margaret froze. She watched me with eyes like the moon, but she didn’t respond. So I continued to speak. I couldn’t stop at that point anyway. I needed to say it. “Still. I understand. Because I am just like you. More so today than I ever have been before. And that’s my fault. I know that’s my fault. I can forgive you, even. Because I understand why you did what you did. You had better reasons than I ever did. The praise of our parents, sure. But you, at least in some way, believed you were helping people. So I can forgive you. What I was scared to admit to myself was that… I don’t have to forget what you did, just because I forgive you for it. I can still fear you for it. I don’t have to trust you, just because I forgive you.

  “I didn’t want to admit that. I wanted to believe that we’d crossed some kind of line in the sand, and because I understood you, I had to treat you like you’d never hurt me and so many other people. Because if I can’t both forgive and forget, how can I ever expect my sister to do both for me? I so desperately want that. I want that like I want to shed my skin and be someone entirely new. And I want to expect it. So I tried. I tried to forget who you were. What you did. I tried to both forgive, and forget. And I murdered an innocent man. A lot of them, actually. I’ve put it together now. Why I walked into that trap. There was some level of control coming from Luke, yes. Enough to tip the scales. But I got there in the first place because I’m just… a doormat. I always have been. And I wanted to do what you wanted me to do.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Mars, I didn’t–”

  “I don’t hold you responsible for any of that, to be clear. I am a grown woman. I know I am responsible for the choices I make. For the things I do with my own hands, of my own free will. You’re a ghost of my creation. You couldn’t hurt anyone but me. Even if you wanted to. I know that I killed Luke because I decided to kill him. After all these years, I finally got blood on my hands. And I did it willingly. I can own that. I killed an innocent man, once again, because I wanted to please someone I trusted. I knew who you were when I decided to take your advice. But if I ever find Camilla, I want to believe she can forgive and forget. That we can just be sisters again. And I knew. I knew if I took your past into account when I decided whether I should listen to you, then I was failing. I was failing to forget. And I couldn’t ask my sister to do the same someday.”

  I took a deep breath as I finally finished dressing. I leaned one arm against the wall and pressed my forehead to it.

  “I never asked you to do that, Mars. I never asked you to forget anything,” Margaret protested.

  “No, you didn’t,” I agreed. “This was all self-imposed. Because it was something I needed. But I think… I think what I want is impossible. I don’t think there is such a thing as forgiving and forgetting. I think it is only really possible to forgive someone if you promise to remember. If I don’t acknowledge who you were and what you’ve done, I can’t forgive you for it. That’s just choosing to be blind. If I don’t remember what you are capable of and take it into account when I speak to you… well. If I’d found Cammie before I got trapped here, and she forgot what I did to her. She wouldn’t have known to stop me before I made the same mistake again. Before I killed someone innocent. She would forgive me. I believe that. But part of that would be remembering that I tried to have her killed once.”

  I pushed myself away from the wall, then returned to my pack to collect my grimoire. Margaret was hesitant to speak again, and when she did, there was only one thing she wanted to know.

  “Luke is innocent?” she asked. I supposed I understood. We’d seen him preach. We’d seen him cast, or so I believed. He held me in the water as my mind was taken from me. I’d never seen a trail of sparks leading to him, either. There was no reason to believe it could be anyone but him. Except for the one reason Margaret and I should both have understood.

  “It’s his mother. She’s the water mage, at least. It’s possible they are working together, but I don’t think that’s the case. There was just… something in his death. I could feel it. Maybe it’s written in the pages of time, and I could feel it. Maybe it was the smile she gave me as he and I both died. But I think it’s her, and only her. I think she baptized him before anyone else,” I answered.

  Margaret paused even as I started to walk toward the door. “The sermon. The one we saw…” she whispered. “Why would he care so much about children obeying their parents?” I nodded.

  “Come on. We have to go,” I insisted. Speaking with her had helped. It was different from the usual methods I used to get myself moving. But those words had been boiling over, and I’d been drinking them back down and scalding my throat. Letting them out was like falling downhill. It hurt, but it moved me forward.

  “How will my uncle's mansion help us?” Margaret asked. I pictured the woman’s face again, as her son died and she killed me.

  “I have to believe all of this is related. I want to find out exactly how Luke—and his mother—are related to your uncle.”

  It was quite some time before we actually made it to the mansion. I, as ever, insisted on saving the girls first. I couldn’t leave them trapped in their head. It didn’t matter how many loops I went through. Those sweet children deserved to cry if they wanted to cry. I would let no day pass where they couldn’t. Perhaps it was hypocritical. To save so many others just once, and save them every time. But I needed them more than they needed me.

  In any case, we did make it to the mansion again. Far more safely, since the cult didn’t know to look for us yet. I idly noticed the sparks still trying to lead me to the mayor’s mansion, but stopping the cult took priority. Margaret and I didn’t speak much. The acknowledgment that I didn’t have an obligation to be around her strangely made it hurt less to do so. But we still didn’t have much to say to each other that hadn’t already been said. At least, until I found it.

  “Mars, I think this is his will,” Margaret said. I’d called her over as soon as I found it. It was scattered and out of order, but in a way that was why I found it. The front page used a lot of language I didn’t understand. But the page I’d first noticed, buried in a drawer in a guest room, had Scylla’s name on it. I started flipping through it.

  “Do you know what any of this means?” I asked. Margaret shook her head.

  “No better than you do, I’d guess.” That made sense. Most people wouldn’t, if they didn’t work in government. Still, I understood a little. More importantly, I found exactly three names on it. Or at least, three names who seemed to be listed as benefactors, to include Scylla. I figured before Margaret had… changed things, it had been four. The other two were a man and a woman.

  “Clark Cross,” I read. Not Luke, as I’d originally suspected. I scanned further, and read the last. “And Vitinia.”

  As soon as I said the second name, I felt it. The spell that had saved me from Margaret. The window through time that let us see each other’s past. I could use it.