Lullaby (Fable Saga Book 2)

s we drive across town to the Nint

ened at the shops. She doesn’t need

every time they looked at me, they were seeing the girl who survived instead of Mia. How many times had they wished in the small lonely dark hours of the night for history

but they clearly haven’

ies out of a tall cypress tree a

part from on Sunday mornings, the pretty little s

in the car,

ut and closing th

e carpet of moss and leaves. The sun is low in the sky, and soft late afternoon li

ronze spikes, which runs on a straight line on either side of me

f the dead stretches

eums, moss-encrusted tombstones, ma

heart of

s gate. There are cobwebs all over the latch, and it’s wet t

t time anyone vi

eople. And as far as I know, new burials in the church graveyard are rare. Mia was only buried

he gate and

down my spine as my feet

shadow of the forest, but it feels immediatel

e ghosts between the headstones. Usually in a graveyard, you’d expect to see bunches of flowers in various stages of decay placed o

ite stones under a circle of weeping willows b

bb

. I cast my eyes over the weathered headstones, running my finge

nder Christian Robbins, 1922

bins, wife of Bradford, 1859

ins, 1927 – 2009.

ago for the burial of Ben, Mia’s grandfather. Even though we weren’t related by blood, he was like family. The second time was w

wrapped up in thick cotton wool, floating through the misty

t a few steps from

de of a plum tree covered in a cl

ent to comprehend

stine, smooth stone, save for a vase of wilting

patches of moss. A thorny climbing rose has grown up around it, clinging to the stone and s

vernight in the forest, aged like it had lain there

es are worn away, and the engraved letters are being swallowed

cherished daughter,

and the thorns. I trace her name with my fingertips. The stone is roug

one stupid slab of stone. And now e

Mia died, there was a particular thought that ke

t beauty disapp

so hard on all summer. I was haunted by the tumbling black hair which she always moisturized with coconut oil, and which I had filled with thin plaits just a day bef

om the deeper, more painful loss. It hurt too much to think about how Mia would never again re

small losses, so that there was no spa

f I couldn’t visit Evan’s final resting place, I’d always taken for granted that I’ll be able to visit Mia whenever I need

tears. Closing my eyes, I

understand what’s going on. You always kn

what I expe

ce says righ

Mia’s grave as I steady myself. Kitty is stand

d touching me lightly on the arm. “I was ge

he purplish sky, and the forest’s shadows have d

just past noon and… I can’t have left th

“No Ash. You’ve been go

urs? Imp

, casting her eyes over the dilapidated tombstone. “

say. “This is Mia. The

uses her index finger to wiggle a loose piece of stone on a crumbling corner. “This thing’s ancient. It’s probably the o

say. “This i

pression i

se,” she says. “This has b

d my

nd the trees. No way do I want to

n the grave. “There’s something I ne

ting for you forever. I’m sure all the frozen berries

figure out what to do next. It feels like the

goes through first. As I step through the gateway, over the thresh

spoken in a hollo

the