Chapter 2
How Far Would You Go?
The rest of the day passed by so quickly that Alissa barely noticed it. She was uncertain whether time had suddenly decided to go by faster when her daughter had so few days left to live—a cruel punishment now that it had become so precious to her—or if it was because she felt numb for the entirety of the day.
Funny how we seem only to appreciate time when we’re running out of it.
They spent the day together. Dhalia found herself completely focused on an imaginary conversation with her one and only rag doll. The doll knitted by Alissa’s mother had several dark blue wool threads for its hair and a dress made from patches of an old hand towel. She named the doll “Rag,” which was exceptionally creative for a five-year-old.
As for Alissa, she watched each and every one of the girl’s movements in awe while candles burned away the last of the scent of the apple pie they had baked together.
Lying together in bed, Alissa read Dhalia her favorite bedtime story—one about a fox who fell in love with a deer. The child’s reactions to the tale she knew by heart didn’t go unnoticed by her mother. The way she always laughed at the same parts and how she mouthed the lines she had memorizedbefore the words even left Alissa’s lips was fascinating. Lines that were usually followed by the same question: “Mommy, do you really think a fox and a deer could fall in love?”
“Love isn’t really something we can explain, sweetheart. We can’t control our hearts.” A sad smile appeared as unwanted memories of the time when she, like the fox, didn’t choose to fall in love swept by unannounced.
Dhalia truly believed that answer was good enough to satisfy her curiosity, yet she asked it every time as if it were the first. This sweet pattern they built together over the years was the one thing to warm Alissa’s heart whenever she allowed herself to abandon the obligations of adulthood to spend time with her daughter. Unfortunately, as a single mother, those moments didn’t happen quite as often as she would have liked.
When exhaustion finally won the battle Dhalia had been fighting so fiercely and her breathing settled into a slow, steady rhythm, Alissa turned to her side. She watched her daughter sleep, taking in every detail of her little girl. The light of the threads emerging from Dhalia’s soul illuminated her just enough for Alissa to see her clearly through the dark room.
She paid attention to her daughter’s soft breath and how her chest rose and fell as air flowed in and out of her lungs. She noticed the nails on Dhalia’s small fingers, bitten to the flesh as usual on service days. She glanced at the several freckles that painted Dhalia’s nose bridge and thought of her daughter as a work of art. She wished for a painting to immortalize every feature, to record her daughter’s image in her brain so innately that every detail would be remembered long after Dhalia was gone. To remember the sound of her voice and the giggles that came so easily from her. How her little feet tapped with complete lack of rhythm on the wooden floor when she danced freely around the cabin to no melodies, only because she felt like dancing. Alissa wished she could memorize her daughter’sinnocence and endless bliss, hoping to always remember how perfect she was.
How perfect sheis.
Her heart was unbearably heavy, and silent tears seemed to be the only solace to offer relief from the pain. As her relentless teardrops dampened her cheeks and pillow, she contemplated how she would never see Dhalia grow up.
Dhalia would never fall in love. She would never have the chance to have a family of her own or see what lay beyond the wall surrounding Bryniard, as she always said she would. “When I grow up, I will cross this wall. Will you come with me, Mommy?” the girl would say every time they strolled to the edges of the land.
Knowing of her daughter’s dream haunted Alissa. It ached to her very bones because Dhalia, like Alissa once before, dreamed of crossing the wall, but like her father, could die trying.
“Do you think there are really monsters out there?” Dhalia would ask.
Although Alissa, unlike the rest of the townspeople, did not believe in monsters, she always replied the same way: “I don’t know, sweetheart. Maybe we can find that out together one day.”
Dhalia always took that as a challenge, a commitment she intended to keep when she grew up, to show her mother and the rest of Bryniard the truth of what awaited them on the other side.
And although Dhalia would never grow up, she would growold, Alissa realized. Her short blonde hair would turn gray, and wrinkles would cover her sweet little face on her last day of life. She would have her youth ripped out from her as suddenly and drastically as her life. The image triggered a pang in Alissa’s chest, and her whole body shuddered to think of her baby, thesame one she held in her arms for the first time when she was nineteen and alone in the world, going through this terror.
How is this fair? That an innocent, sweet child, bursting with kindness and hope, would decay and die in such a cruel way?
Alissa’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. Her hands quickly reached for her robe; she didn’t bother fixing the mess of her hair or swollen eyes before opening the door.It must be Freyah,she thought. But on the other side of the door, she found a different face: familiar auburn hair and green eyes that gleamed in the dark. The gentle woman, in her late fifties, had been a mother to Alissa since her own mother’s passing. Freyah’s mother carried a bag of cookies and herbs to make tea.
Alissa walked to the side to let Lorena Weller in.
They sat together by the wooden table after Mrs. Weller finished preparing the tea. “Are you okay, my dear?”
“No one is ever okay on siren days,” Alissa replied. Her disheveled appearance clearly showed she’d been crying for a while.
“Right. But you looked particularly… distressed this time. I didn’t know you were such good friends with Mr. Monlard.” She filled Alissa’s cup with chamomile tea.
Mrs. Weller was referring to the scene Alissa made at the funeral after first realizing Dhalia had been marked by Senectus Subita. Flashes of herself kneeling on the cemetery floor, crying her heart out, caused her cheeks to burn. She covered her face with her hands.
“I wasn’t.” She took a sip of her tea and added an extra heaping spoonful of sugar. “I was just… overwhelmed.”
Freyah’s mother nodded in understanding, but her skepticism was written all over her face. “You know you can always count on us for anything, right?” She reached out for Alissa’s hand. “My family is your family too, Alissa.”
Letting a single stubborn tear escape her eyes, Alissa emptied her cup, hoping it would calm her restless heart and trembling hands. They sat in silence for a long while. Alissa gazed at her mother figure with a heart full of gratitude, thankful to have company during one of the darkest times of her life.
“Can I ask you something?” Alissa asked idly, stirring her tea. “What would you do if you knew Freyah’s life was at risk?”