Disclaimer- I don't own the House of Night.
A/N- Sorry it took so long for me to update. Real life got in the way. This chapter is kind of intense, and sad. Tell me what you think.
Sharin's POVTime seemed to slow, and the universe narrowed. I stared at what was right in front of me, without really seeing anything. Jezebel Blake had my mark. It was the color of darkness. No, it wasn't any color. It was the absence of color, never-ending, infinite and yet so close, skin deep.
"Wha-what?" I heard a strangled voice say, before realizing it was my own.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, and some distant part of me registered it as my mother. Layne was standing in the corner, still as a statue, open-mouthed in shock.
I'm not sure what would have happened next, but we didn't get a chance to find out, because Prof. Sylvia suddenly came running down the hall, gasping for air and looking as though she'd seen a ghost.
"Priestess, Priestess!" She gasped, running up to my mother, "Samantha Baron, she's in the common room. She-she…she's rejecting the change!"
My mother paled, her chocolate eyes widening in surprise and horror. Then she shot into action. Dashing down the hall, hair flying behind her. I don't know what exactly compelled me to follow her, but soon I was racing after her, Jez beside me.
The common room seemed shockingly different when I first set foot in it, then I figured out why. No one was talking; there was no laughter, no joking, and no sound of TVs with the volume much to high. Complete and utter silence.
Then there came a cough, bloody and wet sounding, like the ones I'd experienced. Mom shoved through the crowd of girls surrounding Samantha, and there she lay on the floor.
Her red hair, usually shiny and perfect, was now hanging limp around her cheeks, which were an ashen color, unhealthy and gaunt. She twitched, and a spray of blood burst from her mouth, staining her crisp white blouse, roses where there were none before.
"Girls," said my mother, her voice shaking, "return to your dormitories. This is not something I wish for you to see." The girls obeyed immediately, almost as if they'd been waiting for permission to leave.
Samantha coughed again, a painful sound, and moaned, her eyes rolling back into her head. Samantha's lifeblood was pouring from her limp body, covering my mother and I.
My mother soothed Samantha, smoothing her hair from her forehead, which was sticky with sweat and blood, murmuring gentle words, assurances, empty promises.
Samantha's POVDying does not happen all at once. It takes months to create life, and it is not stolen in moments. Life first leaves the body, turning it pale and stiff, brittle and cold. The eyes come last, but they beg throughout. They plead, and they cry, tears tinted pink. They apologize.
You always think you have time, all the time you could need. You think you'll have time to apologize to all the people you've wronged, to say sorry to those that you've hurt. But you're wrong. Your time is limited, so short, like the blink of an eye. Life fades slowly, and gives you time to remember. You do not get to apologize, but you get to know that what you did was wrong, that those you've hurt did not deserve pain. You do not get to apologize, but you get to forgive yourself.
Sharin's POVIt was silent as my mother spoke, her clear voice ringing.
When Mom became High Priestess, she changed the rule about death. Every fledgling who didn't make it deserved a funeral, a chance to be honored and remembered on the grounds of Nyx. You could mourn for as long as you needed, but you had to continue. The best way to adjust to death it wasn't to ignore it, it was to accept it.
"Samantha Baron was beautiful, intelligent, and tough. She had a hard exterior, but it came from a little shared past. Samantha will be remembered, and cared for. Let us pray for Samantha Baron as she returns to the arms of Nyx." My mother bowed her head, and the crowd did the same.
When someone dies, they say, they become made for life. They are depicted as perfect, with good grades and poise and beauty. My mother did not lie when she spoke of the deceased. She spoke of them as they were, and as they deserved to be remembered. Everyone was good, there were just so many that were confused, she said.
Lying in bed later, I found myself thinking about Samantha. I hadn't liked her at all, but she was the one who had chosen to hate me. I wondered if she was sorry that she'd been cruel. I wondered if she was embracing Nyx.