Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil

by V.E. Schwab

“One can be alone without feeling lonely,” she muses. “One can feel lonely without being alone.”

“Bury my bones in the midnight soil,” he begins, infusing the words with the air of theater. “Plant them shallow and water them deep. And in my place will grow a feral rose.” He leans down to Renata and cups her face, running a thumb across her bottom lip. “Soft red petals hiding sharp white teeth.”

Sabine has walked the earth long enough to know that not all flowers grow well in the garden. Some thrive, and others wither. And a wretched few must be dug up before they ruin everything.

You are the kind of bloom that thrives in any soil.

“Some people keep their heart tucked so deep, they hardly know it’s there. But you,” she went on, turning back toward Charlotte, “you have always worn it like a second skin.” She ran a hand down her daughter’s arm. “Open to the world. You feel it all. The love and pain. The joy and hope and sorrow.” She pulled Charlotte close, carrying the scent of the garden. Of home. “It will make your life harder,” she said into her daughter’s hair. “But it will also make it beautiful.”

💖🥲

“Why are you being so kind?” she asks, even as she begins to sink. Antonia’s voice follows her down. “We grow together in this garden.”

“The fact is, whether death takes you all at once, or steals pieces over time, in the end there is no such thing as immortality. Some of us just die slower than the rest.”