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WHEN AURORA OPENED her eyes, she felt an incredible amount of sorrow weighing on her heart. She could feel her insides clenching, combusting. Her head was filled with so much sadness, she wasn’t sure what troubled her the most.
The wooden bird. Aurora dipped into her pocket and pulled it out. She hadn’t paid much attention to in the last few days; now it had special significance. As she held it in the palm of her hand, she started to cry.
When Molly gave her the wooden bird on her birthday, Aurora didn’t realize it would be the last time she would ever see her. Molly was so strong, so intelligent—she always put others before herself. Now she was dead. And no matter how many tears spilled down Aurora’s cheeks, it didn’t make that fact any less painful.
And then there was Meg. Aurora would never forget the expression of agony on her face. Meg was the toughest woman Aurora had ever known, and even she could not stand up to Medea. Aurora knew she would have been dead if not for the gift that Meg gave her.
Aurora laid the wooden bird on the ground and pulled out the wayspinner. After it whisked her away from the conflict on the balcony, she landed—quite hard—on solid ground. And she landed on top of the wayspinner. Now it was broken. No doubt about it. The wayspinner, her gift from Meg, was bent in half.
She wondered what would become of Meg, alone on the balcony with Medea and Charmaine.
A few seconds later, Aurora realized she was the one who was alone.
“LYRIC!” Aurora shouted. “Lyrrrrric!”
There was no response, aside from the fluttering of a few birds as they soared out of a nearby tree. Aurora remembered reaching for him as she turned the wayspinner, but she must have failed, because he was nowhere to be found.
“Lyric! Lyriiic!”
It would have been comforting to hear him answer her, but there was no response. For the first time in over a week, Lyric wasn’t with her. Until he was gone, Aurora didn’t realize how much she would miss him, or how much she valued his companionship. Sure, he could be annoying at times, but it was always a comfort to have him around. His sarcasm could make her forget the worst situations, but now there was no one to fulfill that role. She was truly alone.
“Lyric...”
Aurora stroked the wooden bird with her finger, and tears started leaking from her eyes. In her mind, she reprimanded herself for her weakness. Aurora never cried. As far as she was concerned, crying was useless. It never solved anything, and it never washed away the pain.
Aurora pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. As irritating as he was, she would have given anything to hear him tease her. She wondered if she’d ever see him again, or if he’d even care to see her. She realized, with some embarrassment, that she’d never really had a friend before. All her life, she’d been a sheltered girl, completely contented to have Meg, Molly and Mary as companions. For all she knew, they could all be dead—and Lyric as well. Because of her, Lyric had been exposed to more danger than he’d ever faced in his life. If he was alive, Aurora would not blame him if he never wanted to see her again.
“Uuggg...” Aurora groaned to herself. “I wish you were here...”
When she closed her eyes, she could picture Lyric’s face. If she had another wish, she would have wished for him to appear beside her. She wondered if he would let her cry on his shoulder, if only for a moment.
“Why am I thinking about you so much?” she whispered to herself. “All we ever did was argue. Why do you mean so much to me?”
Aurora picked up the wooden bird and laid it on her knee. She stared at it for several seconds, and her thoughts shifted back to Molly. The fact that she was dead seemed impossible. It seemed unreal, inconceivable. If only Meg was mistaken!
For the first time in her life, Aurora had someone to hate. Medea. She had to get revenge on Medea.
Aurora sat in sorrowful solitude for what seemed like hours. It was almost as if her entire body was paralyzed by sadness. The tears stopped, but the grief remained. She just wanted to lie down on the ground and forget about everything: forget about death, forget about Medea, forget about Lyric—
Forget about the pair of yellow eyes glaring at her from the brush.