Book 1: Saying Goodbye

Emory

A walk in the garden was meant to lift my spirits, but when I return to my room a few hours later, I find that it has done very little. As I come back to my room, I am reminded that at least I no longer have to fear having my throat ripped out while I’m out and about. That is something to be happy about, I suppose.

My hand goes to my neck, and I pause in front of the mirror to look at my scars. Helga and Nellie dismiss themselves into their own chambers, and I barely murmur a, “See you later,” as my fingers trace two jagged marks, one on either side of my throat.

I’d healed quickly enough to keep me from bleeding out, but the speed at which my tissue had mended itself also prevented the pack healer from having the opportunity to put me back together with a straight stitch. So now, these three to four inch long tears will always be there to remind me of the horrendous encounter I had in the library.

I’ve hardly even been able to look at