When I let go of myself
The sky opens and we fly
Night fell with a burning sunset so bright that people all over the city were alarmed. They had never seen anything like it. Was the sun dying, they wondered. Was this the last sunset they’d see? The fiery sky disquieted the inhabitants of Venice.
Winter stood at Lucrezia’s window, the scarlet clouds instilling fear in her heart. She’d never seen a sunset like this, not even in the north, where skies could be so spectacular that they took your breath away. But this? This was unnatural.
“Winter?” Conte Vendramin had walked in, back from one of his hunts.
“Conte Vendramin! You are home. Thank goodness.”
“You saw the sky, I take it.” He gestured towards the arched window near Winter’s bed.
“Something is about to happen,” Winter replied, wrapping her arms around her. She was afraid.
“I’ll sit with Lucrezia. Why don’t you go and get something to eat? Some rest?” the count offered.
Winter shook her head. “I’d rather stay.”
“Very well,” said the man. “We will sit together.”
They sat near Lucrezia’s bed, the sky casting strange lights over their faces and on the sleeping girl. Twilight was supposed to be seeping in, but there was no sign of the sky fading.
The longer she sat, the harder it was to resist falling asleep. She hadn’t slept at all the night before, and Lucrezia’s low whispering was now lulling Winter to sleep. Her thoughts drifted to Niall, to her seal companions, the years spent in the water, her mother. She had neared the edge of sleep when suddenly, the sleeping girl began to twitch. Winter looked to Lucrezia’s father. His eyes were brooding, brow furrowed with worry.
Under their frightened gaze Lucrezia sat up, her eyes closed, and she spoke. Her childlike voice was strong, determined. “Sarah Midnight. You are Sarah Midnight. Don’t lose yourself. Remember. Remember,” she said in English, and then she fell against the pillows, as if the effort of speaking those words had drained all the energy from her. Her constant murmuring began again.
“I think the time has come,” Winter whispered. “The moment she said she’d look for Sarah again.”
Conte Vendramin nodded. He looked exhausted, Winter noticed, like he’d been burdened by a huge weight for so long. She didn’t know how much longer he would be able to bear it.
Lucrezia’s murmuring turned into moans of pain. She tossed and turned, as though fighting a cruel battle somewhere far away. They watched in horror as her inner strife intensified until she was foaming at the mouth, her eyes rolling back into her head.
“They’re hurting her! They’re killing her!” the count cried out. He didn’t know who was doing this to his daughter, and he was going crazy with frustration.
“Sarah!” Lucrezia called again, and then she raised her arms, her hands reaching for someone they couldn’t see. “Sarah!”
A final, anguished moan, and then Lucrezia fell back and was still once more. Her chest rose and fell frantically, and a thin film of sweat shimmered on her forehead. Instinctively, Conte Vendramin’s and Winter’s hands entwined, seeking mutual comfort. Lucrezia was whispering again, and every once in a while they could make out Sarah’s name.
“Help me, seal!” Lucrezia said all of a sudden. “Help me reach her!” Winter let go of the count’s hand and held Lucrezia’s.
“How? How can I help you?” She stared into Lucrezia’s sleeping face, eyes searching for a sign to guide her.
“Help me find her,” the Italian girl said. For a moment, Winter’s heart sank. She had no idea what Lucrezia was asking her to do, or how to help her find Sarah. She looked to Lucrezia again, but all she saw was her stony face.
Instinctively, Winter closed her eyes, and to her wonder, thousands of images began to twirl before her eyes. People. Places. Among them, somewhere, was Sarah.
Winter took a deep breath and looked for a memory of the girl. She had never seen Sarah as a small child, because of the years spent in exile, but she’d seen pictures inside Midnight Hall. One in particular, of Sarah and Morag on the beach when Sarah was about ten. Sarah’s long black hair flew in the wind, her neck snuggled into a scarf. Her jeans were wet at the hems, like she’d been in the sea. She had a serious, thoughtful look in her startlingly green eyes.
As Winter pictured the photograph in her mind, the twirling images stopped and settled on the girl. All she could see was Sarah as a child, standing on the beach with her grandmother. All of a sudden, Winter heard Lucrezia’s voice calling Sarah’s name – and she joined her. They called together, until a terrible scene filled Winter’s mind. It was Sarah, and yet it wasn’t. Her body had changed and took on terrible shapes. And then she heard Lucrezia talk: Sarah Midnight. This is who you are. Remember!
Fire burnt Winter’s mind. She gasped in pain, but she couldn’t let herself stop. Don’t let go, Sarah. Remember who you are. Remember! Lucrezia kept saying.
A new burst of pain made Winter cry out, and broke the silver thread that kept them tethered to Sarah. She saw black, and then she opened her eyes.
To her horror, she saw that Lucrezia’s face was covered in blood, streaming in two red rivulets from her nose. She felt her face was wet, and when she touched it and looked at her fingers, she realised that she, too, was covered in blood.
Her eyes met Conte Vendramin, who’d been watching in horror.
“I think we lost Sarah,” Winter said desolately.
“Remember,” Lucrezia said once more, her bloodied face leaving scarlet marks on the pillow as she curled up, all energy gone.