Page 119 of Molt

That thought almost makes me laugh.

Of course it does. Of course even now I find her beautiful. Even when her body is splitting at the seams trying to decide who gets to live inside it. Even when every inch of her is proof of what I did.

“I won’t let her come back.” Sarah’s voice trembles. Part of it is hers. Part of it is mine.

There’s another voice beneath both.

Soft. Old. Familiar.

Lenora. The first one.

I hear her sometimes when Sarah breathes. I hate that I still love the sound.

“What do we do?” I ask.

She looks toward the jars.

Most are broken.

The remaining glass reflects pieces of us across the room. Nine lives. Nine bodies. Nine disasters.

“I don’t know.” She swallows. “But you said the transfer finishes when you disappear.”

“Yes.”

“And then she takes over.”

“I think so.”

“You think?” she quips.

“Everything I knew was wrong.”

“Great.”

“Very reassuring.”

She almost smiles.

I want to kiss her.

The desire comes so naturally it makes me sick. My mouth remembers hers. My hands remember every version. My body still reaches for the same comfort even though comfort is killing us.

Sarah notices. “Don’t.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Liar.”

“Apparently terrible at it.”

Her mouth curves. Then her expression twists as she doubles over.

“Sarah?”

Pain rips through her. She grabs the table. Her shoulders jerk backward. Something moves beneath her shirt. Not one movement.

Many.