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"I'm not certain I can."
"Then you will be useless, and no better than the rest of your kind, and your dead girl will cry in your dreams until you stop caring that she does. And when that happens, you will deserve death." After all else he had said, the words hit her like a physical blow. Qurion took a deep breath and stood, facing away while pausing to crack his joints. "I'll let you finish getting your air in peace. Goodnight."
"I— goodnight to you too."
Valeriana watched his retreat through her hands, with her fingertips pressed against her forehead and her palms growing increasingly wet.
She knew what she'd dream of once she allowed her eyes to close. It might even become the only thing she dreamt of tonight, looping until she woke, that one order, plea, request — help, help, help — repeated endlessly, burrowing into her like a worm through a rotten piece of fruit.
The problem, in the end, was that she'd been left with no one to tell her what to do other than herself and the voices she made up, and a lifelong habit of doing as she was told.
She'd have to—
She'd have to go back to the Mayfly.
