She’d endured a bartered marriage to Hauth, a brute, who’d gotten her drunk and used his Scythe on her—locked away her heart with three indifferent taps. He’d dragged her to the precipice of that window at Spindle House and pushed her to her death. She’d lain there in her own blood, staring up at the moon, thinking it would be the last time she’d see the night sky. It tore at Elm, thinking she’d endured it all alone.
