The jasmine leaves in my cup smell like rotting flesh and Sylvaine's third eye is watching me from across the table.
There is no sun or moon above our heads; only white sky, seemingly limitless, almost close enough to touch. Marie's head is partly hidden in a cloud-like mist and the softness of it tickles her nose, making her sneeze into her cup.
My fingers dig into the chapped membrane of my wing and pain rushes to the surface, paralyzing like a snake's bite. The attack had cost me one of my two extra limbs and now the remnants of it were pushing the other into decay. Was the arrow that struck me tipped with poison? The kind that kills you slowly, turns you dry as an autumn leaf and reaches its peak when you begin to crumble against the harshness of the wind?
Am I to become a fallen creature? One with the soil but unable to connect with my earth?
Sage and Marie are fighting over a scone now. Sylvaine's third eye is crying tears of acid, a trail of golden cracks on a white marble face. Sage gets frustrated, digs her claws into Marie's chest. I move the biscuits to the other side of the table, so they won't get splattered with blood.
I'm brushing the moss off my hands when Sylvaine, beautifully ruined as she is, speaks up. Her divine voice echoes like a thousand human ones.
"This is the boy's doing, I presume?"
And for the first time this afternoon, The Secret pulses against my skin. I have it hidden in my boot, pressed up against my leg, and it's warm, growing hot as a pyre, setting me ablaze. A tiny sun of human weakness, only mine to treasure. Sylvaine's third eye remains unblinking, staring intensely at the hole on my decomposing wing.
"I haven't seen him," I lie, lips pressed against the rim of my teacup. The jasmine still smells nauseatingly bad.
"Yes, you have. He gave you something too. A gift."
"A gift?" questions a skeptical Sage, blood trailing along the sharp edges of her claws.
Sylvain’s gaze wavers. "A Secret."
Marie drops her spoon into her cup, knocking it over, and dusts the clouds off her hair. The pretty lace of her dress is still stained with red, and her chest is cut open quite severely.
"She's stolen it!" she exclaims, her words followed by a laugh of disbelief. "She's become a thief!"
"I have not. " I reply, my face growing hot, but not quite as hot as the proof of my betrayal, still burning a bruise onto my ankle.
"Come now," Sylvaine rests her chin on the palm of her hand, smiling at me. "Show us."
Her sweetness is an attempt to mock me even further. I know it. But I cannot resist. It feels wrong to let them see but is this not why I invited them here in the first place? To quit my lying?
Some of my skin has withered away by the time I slip the Secret out of my boot. It burns my fingertips, but it continues to vibrate and to breathe, precious as a human heart; a small universe in my grip. Marie gasps, more blood pouring out of her and onto the tablecloth. Sage has come alive with rage, so I avoid looking her way.Sylvaine is quiet, the sight of my treasure alone confirming her suspicions. Her acid tears have eradicated her smile and I know I have no right to miss the memory of it. I want to explain myself, to plead for her forgiveness, but the words just won't come. Because I don't regret it. I don't regret accepting the boy's Secret. Even now, even with the strings of guilt binding my wrists, I know I wouldn't give this up.
"You stupid girl," Sylvaine mutters. I flinch at the disgust with which she speaks the sentence, cradling the Secret closer to my chest.
"Maybe," I give in, watching as more bruises bloom along my knuckles.
"Look at you. Wilting away into nothingness before our eyes. Does it not scare you that you're not fazed by it?"
"No."
"No, " she mocks, pale lips twitching bitterly. "You're being killed by that boy and his gift, and you're not even upset with yourself."
"He did nothing to me, I-"
"Was he not the one that shot that arrow at you?"
"He thought I was a beast of a sort, he didn't-"
"And are you not?" Sage interrupts; eyes narrowed into shadowy slits. "Are you not a beast?"
"Sage," I start, but she cuts me off once again.
"You're turning into one." Her voice is steady, cruel, and I'm suddenly incapable of uttering a single word. She speaks my name, makes it sound terrifying in my ears, like the hiss of a viper tasting the bitterness of her own venom.
"Ignorance clings to you like second skin. But then again,” she stands, and half of me hates her for what she says next. “You’ve always excelled in both greed and foolishness.”
She turns to go then, leaving part of my heart shattered. I realize I liked being her friend, even when she stained our dresses red or ate all of our pastries.
Marie avoids my gaze, sending another wave of shame over me. I turn to Sylvaine, desperate for a hint of the empathy that’s woven into her very core, but she's nowhere to be seen. Panic strikes me hard when I sense a pair of invisible hands reaching for me, pushing at my throat, clawing at the bright light in my arms. I scream, try to scratch or kick at her, all thoughts of guilt or remorse wiped clean from my mind.
She can't have it. I won't let her.
My fingers wrap around a fork as I continue to cry out Sylvaine's name. In a moment of fleeting luck, I finally sense her getting closer. I bring my hand back, and then shove the fork into the socket of her third eye.
Sylvaine's force stutters and the empty air that shrouded her slowly fades away. She stares at me until I step back, the Secret cupped in my right hand and the fork in the grip of my left. Marie is long gone but I notice she has taken the rest of the scones with her. With more acid dripping down her face, Sylvaine says to me, "Well, it's not up to you anymore. You've accepted the gift. The Secret will choose soon enough."
My breath falters.
"Choose?"
"Which one of the two it's meant to belong with. A Secret is only valuable if it's kept by one."
My grip tightens around it. "It's mine."
"Is it?" she smiles again; that same bitter smile. "Why are you rotting away then?"
"The arrow- “
"Human weapons in human battles cannot hurt us, my sweet. We seal our own fates. You were too eager to meet yours." Her gaze softens, just for a moment. "I hope it passes quickly."
She leaves me. She disappears into the wind, and I'm so broken I could cry. Instead, I simply pour my jasmine tea all over the grass and smash the cup against the table. My apple pie is still steaming when I poke at it with the end of my fork, but then the fire on my skin begins to advance.
The Secret starts to devour me, inch by inch; first my legs, then my limbs and finally, my lungs. A gasp is ripped out of me as I'm suffocating, my wing nothing but ash beside me. There would be only emptiness in my mind if it weren't for the reminder of the boy and his cursed offer, the glowing orb of what I thought was a treasure in his hand. There is no divinity in that gift of his. No purity in the way his Secret tears me apart.
The wind carries my screams, the sky darkens and entangles me in a loneliness so horrible that I see faces all around; a hallucination masterfully crafted by the poisonous infection rummaging through my insides and making me glad to be haunted by whatever stranger is watching. I try to smile, just to be polite. I struggle to stay quiet but since I no longer have a hand to muffle my cries with, I can do nothing but press my face hard onto the table. Footsteps echo in my ears and I know my new guests are eager for scones after tea.
I am overcome by sorrow. How can I ever find the strength to tell them there are none left?
The memory of the boy visits me again, even in the slowness of my suffering, and as the light begins to fade before my eyes, I understand that the Secret can only belong to him. And he knew that. Of course he knew.
My betrayal has been entangled with his, and I'm hurt by it, but it's the reminiscence of warmth that brings me to the ground. I'm still desperate for it, still crave to breathe it in and build myself back up around it.
A Secret, I think. What a wonderful sort of demise.
Then my spine snaps, and I wilt.