Aurora and Theodore did not speak over the next few days. They did not move seats in class — likely, he just didn't want to cause more fuss — but their only words were to trade pruning shears and potion vials. In the wake of Potter's interview, the rest of Draco's group became more hostile, too, throwing venomous and suspicious looks in the corridors, which she tried to ignore.

"They had to be exposed at some point," Leah said loftily, glaring back while Aurora tried to keep her head down. "Or, sorry —" she added as they passed the decree in the Entrance Hall "—I've absolutely no idea what their problem is, and I'm sure it has nothing to do with any publication they're not allowed to admit to having read and therefore cannot do anything about." When they were out of earshot, headed up the stairs, she grinned at Aurora and Gwen and said, "My dad's going to raise a motion for investigation in the Assembly."

"I know," Aurora told her. "But it'll never pass."

"Not with that attitude," Leah said, giving her a sharp look, and she sighed. Leah was right, but she still felt nervous about voting, with Umbridge here. Even so, not doing anything made her just as bad as Umbridge, and Fudge, too. Theo's words from the other night rang in her head, that she was a hypocrite, pretending she wasn't on a side.

"It's coming up on Monday," she said. "Potter and I have to talk about it — we're going to send in a proxy vote." Umbridge wouldn't want them leaving the school, and she didn't want to anger her into passing an Educational Decree to stop such things in future, not when they might need that license for a bigger issue. "You can tell your father we'll vote with him."

"Well, we obviously knew Potter would," Leah said, rolling her eyes, and guilt squirmed in Aurora's gut. She looked steadfastly ahead, desperate to get to class and avoid the feeling that she was disappointing her friend, not doing enough, that she had to face what was going on.

Heavy guilt and exhaustion followed her all day, through each class, which were stifling enough, with Theo being quiet beside her, but not wanting to move and cause a fuss. In some ways it was worse. But she didn't know how to apologise.

She used the mirror to speak with her father that night after dinner, relieved to see his face swimming in the glass before her. "Aurora!" he greeted, beaming, and tilted the mirror so she could see the interior of the living room at Tonks Cottage. "I wasn't expecting you, sweets, I'm at Andromeda and Ted's."

"Is that Aurora?" Dora's voice called from somewhere distant, and all of a sudden she appeared beside Aurora's father, hair a shocking violet. "Wotcher, munchkin!"

"Hey, Dora," she said, unable to stop herself from smiling at her cousin's elated look. "Don't tell me you made dinner again?"

"Course not, Remus refused to eat it. He's here too — oi, you lot get out the kitchen, Aurora's talking! Christ, Harry isn't there, too, is he, we've got the whole lot of us in tonight."

"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "I'm in my room — Gwen might pop her head in to say hello though, she's with Leah." When she had left them, they had been deep in conversation about Gwen's relationship with Robin, which Aurora felt too uncomfortable to presently engage in. She kept thinking perhaps she ought to, feeling that Gwen was slipping away from her, when she spoke to Leah more and more, and Aurora had little to contribute, caught in her own head and guilty, ashamed, because she did not know how to close the gap between her and her friends. Theo had made yet another clear to her the other night, and it was that for all she loved her friends dearly, she really was not very good at showing it. At simply being around them and doing the right thing.

She wasn't sure what was wrong with her. But she felt she would be hard to fix.

She was drawn from her thoughts by Andromeda's voice asking, "Everything alright there?" as she and Remus leaned over the back of the sofa, and Ted collapsed dramatically beside Aurora's father. "Getting ready for the big match next Saturday?"

"No, but yes — Graham's booked us onto the pitch almost every night from now 'til then for training, which I wouldn't mind, but I've a mountain of homework to get round to and I'm going to have to pull a few late nights. Snape's set us three essays."

"Course he has," her dad and Dora muttered in sync, and Remus laughed.

"They're not too bad, they're just long, and he's always so strict about length and referencing. Madam Pince is already annoyed at how many library books I've checked out — apparently we can only have put up to fifty at a time, but no one told me that!"

"I don't think many people take that many books out, in fairness," her father chuckled. "You'll be fine, sweetheart. Relax."

"I know, but O.W.L.s are coming up and..."

"It's a very stressful time," Andromeda said, nodding. "Even for the brightest students. But your dad's right — you'll do wonderfully. Just keep at it. Your last essays have all gotten Os, haven't they?"

"Yes, but that might slip, and I have to make sure I know exactly what I'm doing right and how I'm doing it." She shook her head. "Anyway, that's not really why I'm calling. I'm sick of school, and of everybody here. Umbridge has put through another stupid decree, Theodore's mad at me over Harry's interview, Harry's mad at me because he feels like it, Leah's annoyed for further reasons still unknown, and honestly, it's all just a bit annoying. I'd rather talk about anything other than Hogwarts." Except perhaps from that interview, and whether or not she was being awful by not having told Theo about it. But she only wanted to discuss that with her dad.

So instead, Dora told her all the office drama at the Ministry, her dad gave her updates on the awful work he was doing on the motorbike to 'upgrade' it, Remus told her all about the paper he was writing on Hinkypunks' nesting habits, Andromeda gave her a whole talk about the gossip from her friends' lunch club, and Ted talked her ear off about some altercation at the bakery in the village, until the light faded entirely outside and her father headed home through the Floo. Once he was in Arbrus Hill, he called her back, alone, and asked, "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about earlier? I know you probably didn't expect everyone to be there."

Relief flooded her, along with gratitude that he knew that, without being told. "Yeah," she said thickly. "I — well, it's silly, but I've just been feeling... Well, like a bit of a rubbish friend."

"Oh?" Her father's forehead creased in worry. "Why, what's happened?"

"It's Theo," she said, hesitant. Her father kept his expression blank, but that only made her more worried about what he was hiding. "I didn't tell him about the interview Harry did with Rita Skeeter, even though I was in on it, and he's hurt."

"There's nothing untrue in it," her father said, shrugging. "It isn't either of your faults, that his family are full of Death Eaters. Harry's right to say so."

"I know," she sighed, running her thumb over her lip nervously. "And Theo knows, too. He's not upset about the article — I mean, he is, but mostly because it sucks to have everyone talking bad about you behind your back. But I think he thought I'd tell him. That it's kind of a betrayal of trust for me not to have and the more I think about it, the more I think he's right and I feel bad about it. He'd have told me if things were reversed, and I think, of everyone, I know most what he's going through, and I just... Didn't think of him. He was really upset — I don't think I've ever seen him genuinely angry like that, certainly not at me. I — I think I really hurt him. And I really, really, never want to do that."

Her father was quiet for a long moment, ruminating over this. "It's a tricky one," he said at last. "But I think, if one of my mates had been in on writing an article exposing my parents for the awful people they are... I obviously can't speak for your friend, but if it were me, I'd have been glad they got exposed, but I wouldn't have liked my friend drawing attention to me like that. And if, as you seem to think, this Nott boy is truly upset about it, and ashamed of his family, that's got to be something difficult to confront. It's something he has to confront, mind — but it's difficult."

"He really, really doesn't want to be associated with them. He was so upset after his father broke out of Azkaban, and I was there for him and I really wanted to be, because I — I really care about him, you know?" Her dad was quiet, frown deepening at the words. "So now, I think, because it's me, and because he'd never have expected it, and because if it had been reversed I know he would have told me..." Guilt twisted in her gut. "I think he hates me."

"Now, I'm sure that's not true."

"He'd have a right to."

"I'm not sure that's true, either. You maybe messed up on the friendship front, but that doesn't mean the article was the wrong thing to do. It's got people talking, it could really make a difference, and that's more important—"

"That's what I said to Theo," she interrupted, voice wobbling. "That it's more important than his feelings, and I — it was the wrong thing to say. It was mean, Dad, and I don't actually think I want to be mean. Not to my friends. I just — I didn't know what to do and I panicked and I went defensive and — I don't know what to do, about anything, it's all just — it's so much, Dad! It's so hard. And I... I just want it to be easier. I want to fix this."

"This being your friendship with Theodore?" Aurora nodded and he sighed. "Then you need to talk to him, sweetheart. Apologise."

"I don't know how. And I have to do more than just apologise, apologising doesn't mean anything unless I show him I'm better than what I did, and I don't know..."

"Apologising is a start. Properly apologising. What is it you feel you have to prove?"

"That I care! That I trust him, and I want him to be able to trust me, but... I don't know how. There are things I can't tell him for his own safety, it's not like I can just spill every secret, and he knows that, but it's — I don't know what to do, Dad. I always know what to do, I like having a plan and knowing where I stand, and I don't right now."

A frown knit his forehead as he told her, voice slow, "I think you have to embrace that. Sometimes, people mess up, and sometimes friendships can't be salvaged. Certainly not overnight. But I know you care about him, and you know you screwed up, and if he knows that, well, that won't fix it on its own, but it'll count for something. You have to own it."

Her own mistake, her own cruelty, her own consequences. No one was quite as good at ruining her life as she herself was. "I know that," she said.

"Just, talk to him. If you're as good friends as you say, then you can work this out."

She nodded, swallowing tightly. It wasn't as if she had never fought with a friend before. Even Theo, she had had arguments with, numerous times. But this time was different, even if she couldn't quite put her finger on why. Perhaps because it felt like the world had much higher stakes now, perhaps because she felt on the verge of realising why she was the way she was, perhaps because she wanted to fix herself, not just mend a broken argument. "I'll try," she said, and her father smiled.

"I know. It'll be alright, Aurora. And if he's a twat, I'll deal with him."

"Please, please don't," she said with a groan, and he laughed.

"I know he's important to you. Just, stay careful."

"Dad—"

"I love you, Aurora," he said to cut her off, and she knew the conversation was ending.

"I love you too," she said, and then his face disappeared, and she was left in the quiet again.

-*

Aurora slipped a book to Robin the next day, with a note inside of it to give to Theodore. A simple note, only a few sentences.

I am really, truly sorry. I did a horrid, stupid thing, and I hurt you, and I am sorry. I know that you don't wish to speak to me right now, or possibly ever, and that's alright, but I have to apologise for what I said. Your feelings do matter to me, and they will always matter. I've been cruel, because I thought I was being clever. You don't have to forgive me, but I do want you to know how sorry I am, that I miss you, and I wish I hadn't hidden this from you.

You don't have to return the book. I just want you to have it.

He didn't respond to it, still sitting in their usual spots in class, but remaining their uncomfortable silence. At mealtimes, he sat near her most of the time because of Robin, but didn't speak as much, and often was found with Daphne and Blaise. On Sunday afternoon, she at least got to be away from him, discussing the upcoming Assembly vote with Harry and ultimately sneaking out the castle that night, under cover of his Invisibility Cloak, to send a letter from outwith the Hogwarts grounds, where Umbridge would not notice or have reason to inspect it.

"So," Harry started once they were safely back in the passageway from Honeydukes to Hogwarts, "what'd you think of the interview? You know, now we're allowed to talk about it."

"It was good. Like I said at the time, it needed to be done." She gave a wry smile. "It's certainly made an impact."

He nodded stiffly. "That's what Hermione said. You know at least a dozen people have told me they believe what I said? Even Seamus believes me, and he's been a right prat all year."

"That's about on par for Finnigan."

He rolled his eyes at her, shuffling onwards with the cloak tucked over his arm. "What about in Slytherin?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Naturally, it has not been allowed to circulate within the common room. But... The usual suspects aren't happy. Draco — well, I don't know what he's up to, but he's been right conspiratorial with Vincent and Greg the last week. They haven't said anything, because they can't, but I can tell they're not happy. No word's gotten back to me on how certain people's families have reacted, but... Safe to say you've caused a bit of a stir."

He looked away with a torn expression, halfway between triumph and uncertainty. "I can't help feeling like there's something more about to happen. Something we're not prepared for." Aurora kept quiet, listening in the silence of the empty passageway until he said in a whisper, "I've been having these dreams."

"About the Dark — You-Know-Who?"

"Yeah." He gave a grim nod. "Maybe. I keep seeing this door, the one where Mr Weasley was attacked, and its in the Ministry of Nagic, im sure of it. He's going to attack there."

"I'm sure the Order knows," Aurora pointed out. "They're keeping guard."

"Yeah, but they're keeping guard of a thing. A weapon, right, like your dad said?"

Aurora knew Dumbledore wouldn't like that Harry had figured out this much. "I suppose. But we've known You-Know-Who's after it for ages, that's nothing new."

"I guess. But it's — I don't know. It's like I can feel him, getting nearer, while I'm getting nearer. You know?"

"Sounds to me like you need to work on your Occlumency," she said, unnerved. The idea that Potter could feel the Dark Lord, that in his dreams they moved as one, like with the snake, felt wrong, like it went beyond prophetic dreaming. It was not possession as he had feared, but it was something unnatural. She did not tell him hat, though. He had enough to worry about. "You have been working on it?"

He made a disgruntled sound which she assumed was a no. "You sound like Hermione."

Aurora shrugged. "Some things can't be helped. But, have you told my dad about these dreams?" Potter didn't answer. Aurora sighed. "Harry, you know he'll want to know. And he can help you."

"Yeah, but — I don't know. I should be better at Occlumency by now, shouldn't I, and he wants me to be, but I just can't do it!"

"So you think he'll be disappointed in you? It's your pride getting in your way?"

Stubbornly, he didn't respond.

"I'm giving you the mirror after Potions tomorrow," she told him, as they drew near the end of the passage and she pulled the Marauder's Map out again. "You'd better use it. If nothing else, my dad knows more about what You-Know-Who's after than I do. Maybe it'll help. But," she said, before she stop herself, "you should know, if the dream's leading you there, it probably isn't somewhere that you should be going."

"But what if—"

"Don't," she told him. "Just... Talk to my dad. Please?"

He gave up arguing, just sighed, and let her lead him out of the passageway before they parted ways in silence.

-*

Sat in her room that evening, in the silence, Aurora started piecing together the bits of information she had gathered from Castella Black's books. The information on the blessing she performed on her sons, the spell that was listed in her grimoire It required mercury, sulfur — things she already possessed from her alchemical work.

She had to know the truth. If she could find out the curse on the ring and why or how it affected her, then she might understand the blessing that might have been put upon her, might understand how she could now continue to survive against Bellatrix Lestrange. Her every nightmare had been full of Bellatrix's high laugh and wild eyes.

She had to survive. She had to know how.

That evening, she went to the Room of Requirement, alone, with the ring and her summoning supplies, clutching Castella Black's grimoire and her diary.

The room provided was dim, coated in a dusty red light. Its wooden floor — yew wood, she could feel it in her bones — was dotted in soft velvet cushions, purple and pink and red, and ivy hung from the ceiling. It was small, cozy, perfect for the intimate spell she was about to attempt.

Aurora arranged the cushions in a circle, and made another circle of salt. Within that, she formed a triangle, and danced around the white powder. She had taken her shoes off, and went barefoot to connect better to the floor and the space around her. It smelled earthy; it reminded her of the Black family cemetery, the scent of yew overwhelming. Yew was poisonous, she knew, but she felt the room would not hurt her, and merely standing upon it was unlikely to cause much harm. It would channel magic like nothing else, not even her wand.

She had to do this. It was the only route she could see and the only half-formed solution that she could cling to.

She placed the ring carefully in the centre of the circle, then the frozen mercury above it, towards the top point of the triangle, and the powdered sulfur beneath.

Then she leaned back, knelt down on the floor with the grimoire propped up in her lap.

She read over the incantation written upon the page.

Be deað man bist forloren,

Beforan deað man wendan.

Ic hatan man fram sē tintreg,

Fram sē lōg betweonan,

Toweard wisian thin gā eald ge thin sawol,

In frēogan thin sculan cwic ungeendodlic,

In min gebod swa sculan beon dōn.

Beneath it:

By death you are lost,

To death you return.

I call you from the aether,

From the space between,

To settle your spirit and your soul,

By love you shall live eternal,

By my command it shall be done.

It was followed by another translation, this time in Latin.

Morte pereunt,

Ad mortem redis.

Voco ab aethere,

De spatio inter,

ut leniret spiritum tuum et animam tuam,

Per caritatem vivetis aeterna,

Per mandatum meum fiet.

One had to repeat those first couple of lines again, over and over, walking around the traced salt with her wand. She did so; three times round the circle, "Morte pereunt, ad mortem redis. Morte pereunt, ad mortem redis. Morte pereunt, ad mortem redis." Once for each line of the triangle, "Morte pereunt, ad mortem redis. Morte pereunt, ad mortem redis. Morte pereunt, ad mortem redis."

Then one final time, the seventh time, as she had just slipped out of the circle, feeling a hum of magic beneath her skin, her own blood rushing. She said it one last time and, with shadows bonding around her, clinging to her skin, called the spirit forth:

"Mihi, mors!"

A roar like nothing she had ever heard before came from within the walls, sparking a tremor that seemed to push beneath her skin, shaking her to the very bone. It felt like something was intruding in her chest and yet at the same time hammering to get out; fear and anger and lust and love and boiling envy, jealousy, the desire for vengeance. For a moment she felt that flare of anger, wanted to burn something, hurt something, scream at Draco all the fury she had felt in the last few months.

And then something sprung forth from the circle, cloaked in shadows and doused in blood. A spectre too similar to herself, in white silk robes, light shining upon black curls and a silver, diamond-encrusted tiara. An angel, if not for the streak of red down her front.

"Child," the spirit said, voice rasping and old, the whisper of ancient trees. "You call me. How did you call me?"

"I — are you Castella Black?"

A moment's pause, then a hiss, "Yes. You have dragged me a long way from my home."

"You're in Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" The spirit looked her up and down. Her features became clearer; she was not so much like Aurora, not really, but she was pale and had a long face, and a deep frown. "So it seems. Yes… I know you. Lady Aurora, is it? Charming."

Aurora gave a small, nervous curtsy. The spirit laughed. "Did you use my spell, then? I had hoped someone might find the grimoire."

"I did," Aurora said, smiling despite her unsettling fear. She had done it, whatever it was, despite what her father had said. "I wanted to speak to you, you see, I needed to. This ring is cursed, it's always tried to hurt me, and I think it has something to do with the family curse, is that right? I thought so, I'm sure I'm affected by that, my uncle—"

"The ring is mine." Castella's voice was short but sharp. "It has been passed down for generations. It is not a curse. The curse is on me, and I — I have seen you, child. I am in that ring. I have been there for years."

"You?"

"In a manner of speaking. I am in many places. My soul is gone to the afterlife and my body is in the ground. But my spirit, my magic, that is trapped. By a curse, I suppose, yes. It was the curse that killed me."

It felt far too easy. Aurora took a step back, wary. The hairs on her neck stood up, as Castella followed, a hungry light in her silver eyes.

"You do not look like a child of my family. What year is this? We are nearing the end of the twentieth century?"

"It is nineteen-ninety-six," Aurora said, hating the way her voice shook and cracked over the words.

Castella let out a laugh. "I have been dead for a century and a half."

"Because of the curse? The family curse? It is said that Lord Hydrus made a bargain with Death, is that true?"

"Slow your incessant questions, child. I do not know — nobody has ever known, I do not think. But why should I tell you?"

She thought over this slowly. Castella was watching her with a strange look on her face, calculating and curious and not entirely human. "If you're cursed, I can help you. I want to break the curse, too."

"You cannot break the curse. Nobody can. And I brought it upon myself. No, you are afraid only for yourself. I can smell the fear upon you. I can see it in your face."

"I am the last of the Black bloodline."

"That is not true. There is another. Many others."

"I am the only one with the name. I am the only one with the power to keep this family together. The House of Black cannot fall. You know that. And," she said, words rushed, "your grandson likes me. Phineas Nigellus."

"Phineas." Her voice was soft and faraway. "He was just a little boy…"

"He was a headmaster of Hogwarts. The only Slytherin headmaster in our history. His portrait is very helpful, and kind. I like him."

"Does he remember me?"

"Yes. I believe he would want us to help each other. And I am ready to listen to you. You have spent so long whispering, Castella. I am Lady Black; it is my duty to you, to do what I can, and hear your story."

Silence stretched between Aurora and Castella, taut and ready to snap against them. Then, Castella spoke in a too-familiar whisper, "I tried to save them. My boys — this is what you must understand, I thought I would save them.

"Castor was my eldest, named for my brother. My brother passed when we were just seventeen; I was married to our cousin three months later, our family desperate to keep the line, and to keep it pure. I had nine children, and by the time I was forty, they were the only two left; Castor, and Marius. Oh, Marius. He always wanted for more, wanted more power, more knowledge, more magic. He wanted to be Lord Black, and truth be told he was best suited for the role, but I knew Castor would never back down. He was far too proud, they both were.

"So, I stopped them. I used the blessing of our ancient lord to stop the bloodshed between brothers. But it did not work as it was meant to. Oh, they could not damage one another, no, but that did not stop the hatred.

"They tried to kill each other. I was warned there was a price, that life and death had to be in balance. So Fate had it that I was in their duel, and that I took their curses upon myself. It killed me, but not quite.

"Castor lives a half-life. I feel him brush against me in the aether, vengeful and repentant. It was he who cast the fatal blow. He who killed his mother. But I cannot blame him. I knew it would be a risk."

"You did? So, you knew that using this blessing would curse you in turn? That you're not properly dead or something?"

"That I died," she whispered, "mostly. But I took a part of the boy I tried to save with me."

Her words sent a cold jolt through Aurora. Regulus' voice echoed in her ears; Death glimmered in the corner of her eye, waving arms, turning, rushing. That was why she could still feel Regulus, still access him. He was trying to save her, but he doomed himself — what if he hadn't been killed trying to turn his back on the Death Eaters at all, but merely as a consequence of helping her, and everybody had blamed it on the wrong thing, what if he had never changed sides at all? It would explain the obsession with the Dark Lord that was evident upon his bedroom wall, it would explain why no one had ever found the evidence of his death, and why no one had ever actually claimed responsibility, even when Bellatrix would surely have gloated over the truth.

"I can feel you, girl. I know you see Death."

Her heart stuttered. "You do?"

"We all do, in some manner. It is an insurance policy, of sorts — if you can see Death, you can run from him. But too many run towards him, or think that they can outsmart him, or Fate. But we cannot. Death cannot be cheated. Fates cannot be changed."

"I'm not sure that I believe that."

"You are a child," Castella said with a cold laugh. "What do you know of Death?"

Anger flared inside her, at the condescension, at the idea that she had not known the pain Castella had. Perhaps she should have been too young, but Death and Fate had not thought so. "Five members of my family died in the space of a year," she spat. "I was twelve. My mother was murdered before me when I was an infant and my grandmother died when I was six and knew no family but her and my mother's entire family line were destroyed when I was two years old." She stepped forward, glaring at Castella and the slow smirk spreading over her features. "I know Death far too well. And I need to know more."

"Well." Castella smiled. "You are a stubborn one. Much like me, I suppose." She reached out an ashen hand. "I know Death far too well, and yet we are not nearly close enough. Come. I will show you."

She was upon Aurora in an instant.

Aurora scrambled backwards, surprised by the feeling of burning energy upon her neck. The image that had been her idea of Castella shattered; in its place was simple white light, ever growing and ever burning, an essence of magic itself. But it warped as it moved around her, no longer a person but their pure spirit, darkening, turning to shades of grey and gold and deep violet, becoming bruises upon her skin and dark blots in her vision. There were voices in her head, screaming, "Mama, Mama!"

There was green light that she had known all her life, racing across her past and shooting through her nightmares. She stumbled, feeling as though she were at the edge of a cliff. The room had fallen away and she felt she was nowhere at all; she turned and found herself in Grimmauld Place, and then again and found herself in the manor, and again, on the crumbling Welsh hillside, staring out into a thrashing sea.

"Help me," Castella's voice said, and they were in the yew clearing outside the manor. She could not see her, only feel the crackle of magic in the air. There were others, tangled webs of lightning between broken trees; bright white and dim bronze, sharp green and soft red. They warped and tangled and wrapped around each other, threads of magic, ebbing and flowing and breathing out into gentle spirits in the air. "Please."

The yew floorboards in the Room of Requirement cracked as she fell down towards them, and a new magic burst forth from her chest.

It was dark and silent when Aurora managed to haul herself up off the floor again. Her hands were shaking and she couldn't do anything to stop them, or to quell the warlike drumming of her heart, or the cold that seized up every inch of her body. She reached for her wand and clasped her hand around it, then reached for the circle.

Above the mercury, sulfur, and the ring, a ball of light hung in the air. Aurora brushed her hand against it, warm and inviting, and sighed into its touch. The light dissipated, and then, she was caged entirely in darkness.

She took the three objects and smudged away the circle around it, breaking the bond that would keep a spirit stuck to that spot. She had gotten little from that, except for a newfound respect for death. It had felt far too close to dying. Bile still crept up her throat, burning, telling her the waves would take her soon. The ring didn't try to hurt her this time. It felt as cool and calm as any other metal; she could have pressed it to her lips and been perfectly fine.

As it was, Aurora merely slipped it on her finger, and felt, for the first time in many months, like she was at ease with this strange and beastly thing. But in her chest there was something clawing at her, hot and bitter, and a restless energy that boiled beneath her skin.

Julius spoke for the first time, "She would have killed you if not for me."

She let out a low, shaky breath. Something sharp twisted inside of her, like a rib breaking. "Was she telling the truth?"

"…I believe so."

"Then I have more to do, don't I?" She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to quell the pounding headache behind her temple. The darkness of her mind burned. "I still don't understand."

"Perhaps you never will," Julius said.

"Thanks," she said drily. "That's really helpful."

"You should rest, Aurora," he told her. It was the first time he had called her that, that she could remember. "Heal. You will need it."