The roses came into my dreams again last night.
Black. Crimson. Pale white.
They crawled across the landscape of my sleep, unfurling in waves that rippled out from wherever I put my feet. I knew what they meant. They were the first thing my Gift ever did, the year I turned ten, before anyone knew what I was. For years afterwards there was a seal over it, woven so deep that even I believed it was gone. The seal is gone now. My Gift remembers what it was, and so do I.
What I still am, under everything Charlotte did to hide me from her.
I woke with my heart hammering and the sheets damp with sweat. The light before dawn came in through the half-drawn curtains, washing the room in blue and grey. Beside me, Arthur was asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm that pulled me back to the real world.
