One Dark Window

I glanced up at him. “What about you, Captain? Are you too nice for your own good?”

He watched me, something I could not read flashing in his gray eyes. “No, Miss Spindle,” he said. “I’m not nice at all.”

The air around me thinned. I blinked, trying to stave off the darkness, like a child fighting sleep. Promise me you’ll help Ravyn. Promise me you’ll save Emory.

It’s time, dear one, he purred, lulling me to rest.

Promise!

He sighed. I promise to help the Yews in all their endeavors.

I closed my eyes, a final whisper escaping my lips. The story—our story. The Nightmare’s and mine. “There once was a girl,” I said, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King—a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same…”

The last thing I heard before I was buried in darkness was the Nightmare’s silky laugh, wicked and absolute. The girl, the King… and the monster they became.

The Spirit has no forgiveness, no pardon to lend. She calls out our names, neither kin, foe, nor friend. She watches the mist like a shepherd its sheep…

And pays those she snares with the great, final sleep.