Page 160 of Tracking Snow

“I’m not exactly the reigning beacon of wisdom, this one time when Ariel got super philosophical after too much wine she started talking about how we basically die a million tiny deaths in one lifetime. Every time something changes us enough, some version of us doesn’t come with us.”

My stomach tightens.

“And it seems to me like you’ve done that plenty recently. I’ve watched you grow and shed parts of yourself that didn’t fit anymore, even when letting them go hurt like hell.”

“You mean my mother,” I say flatly.

“I was trying to be delicate, but fuck yeah.” She nods earnestly.

Mother.

The one time we went to visit her in her new glass box of a prison, a null space where she couldn’t use her Midas touch to turn anything else magic, all seven of us knew better than to expect some sudden revelation.

Without magic containment, she wouldn’t even be able to hold a fork or an apple without changing it, bestowing it with some kind of magical force.

We fully expected her to refuse to speak to us. A cold shoulder. A final rejection.

We needed to see her anyway. Needed some kind of resolution.

What we hadn’t expected was for her to rush to the glass and claw at it, begging us to help release her. Telling us we were her only salvation. That if we let her out, we could be a family again.

Despite her pleas, none of us could ignore the wild, bloodthirsty glint in her eye. There was no question that if we let her out, she would slit our throat the first chance she got.

That is, if she didn’t turn the weapon into a talking cartoon or a flowering banana first.

When we told Mother she was exactly where she needed to be, she really lost it.

We watched as she tore her cell apart, picking up the singular chair in her cell to slam it against the unbreakable glass again and again until the metal seat was bent and dented, her hands bleeding around it.

She’d always been so composed. So controlled. Never a hair out of place. Her voice only needed to rise a fraction to silence a room. Perfect manners and etiquette no matter the situation.

But inside that cell, our mother became a raving, screaming banshee.

As we turned to leave, she screamed that she would never love us. That she never had. That I was a disgusting thing and she hated me.

And while somewhere deep down there was the slightest twinge of reaction, the better part of all seven of us remained untouched by the words she had once used to control our entire existence. We’d been freed from the need for her approval.

Thanks to Snow. Our little magic-obsessed stalker turned savior.

She’s the only one whose love we’ll ever chase. The only person we’ll ever strive to be worthy of, which honestly is ridiculously easy since she loves us exactly how we are.

No matter how many fights we pick with her when we’re feeling on edge, how frustrating we can be while working through the remnants of our self-hatred, or how many pigs we sneeze.

I blink back into the room. Snow is still stroking my hair. I can’t help but laugh a little despite the tension ratcheting through my chest.

“So this decision is just one more, albeit deliberate, decision you get to make about how you want to grow,” she continues. “If you stay seven different yous, there will be pain. If you combine all your parts, there’ll probably be different pain.” She glances toward the bottle. “So maybe don’t think about choosing between the pain you know and the pain you don’t. Pick the future you want.”

Something inside me stills.

“When you picture yourself ten years from now, how do you want to live? How do you want to feel?” Snow asks. “Seven separate guys making one jumbled mess, or one jumbled guy made out of seven parts?”

I rear back and glare at her. “When did you get so wise?”

“Me?” She points to herself, eyes widening. “No, no. Still the dagger-throwing, magic vigilante of the night making rash decisions to help others. But I’m surrounded by super wise chicks who definitely rub off on me.”

I laugh quietly again even as I still struggle to come to an answer.

“What does Seven think?” she asks quietly.