Go on.

When she’d first come upstairs, the red patches and redness of her eyes told me that she’d been crying. I’d been the reason then, and with all of the nondormant part of my heart, I was afraid I would be again. The organ that until recently I wasn’t sure existed now ached, leaving me wondering how much I could say and how Araneae would take it.

I’d been truthful about my stomach. Araneae McCrie scared me in an unfamiliar way. Though she’d been mine for nearly ...