Gallant

by V.E. Schwab

Free—a small word for such a magnificent thing. I don’t know what it feels like, but I want to find out.

But what is safe? Tombs are safe. Merilance was safe. Safe does not mean happy, does not mean well, does not mean kind.

fighting the fall into disrepair, an elegant figure beginning to droop. Skin sagging a little over bones.

she wakes up. There is a dead thing in her bed. The candle has gone out. The room is pitch black, and yet Olivia can see the ghoulish figure, nestled there, the way her mother was, one rotting hand still lifted to her cheek.

Perhaps you are haunting me. What a comforting thought. Maybe it’s you in the darkness. I swear I’ve seen it move.

But there are lower powers, stranger ones, and there in the dark, behind the door, she prays to them.

Run, says her blood. Stay, say her bones.