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“The roots enter slowly.” Her voice changes as she looks down at her bare feet. “They begin here.”

The human version of Mercy flickers.

For one horrible second, her skin turns translucent enough for me to see black roots threaded beneath it, winding through her feet and curling around her ankles.

Then she’s human again.

“They climb,” she continues, running her hands slowly up her legs. “And as they do, they change you. Your blood first.”

Her hand moves to her stomach.

“Then your organs.”

Higher.

Her palm settles over her chest.

“Your heart.”

My own beats harder.

Finally, her fingers rise to her throat.

“Your voice.”

She looks at me.

“Piece by piece, the roots replace enough of what you are until more of you belongs beneath the ground than above it.”

I can’t look away from her.

“And when that happens?”

Mercy’s expression empties.

“The Harvest has something to hold on to.”

I can’t breathe.

“The scarecrows.”

“Failed Brides.”

My stomach rolls.

“Failed how?”

“They died before the rooting completed.”

“And you?”

Her eyes meet mine. “I didn’t.”

Oh. Fuck.

“You’re alive?”

“I don’t know.”