Chapter 1.
Ava.
Being the oldest child sucked. Always had. Especially in this family.
I pressed my lips together, ensuring I didn’t say anything I was feeling. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Not now.
My eyes flickered over my mother who lay in the middle of her bed, frail and willowy, all loose skin hanging off brittle bones. Her pale blue eyes—slightly milky due to her age—looked at me with her penetrating gaze. Instead of annoyance, or disappointment, however, they sought forgiveness, approval, and above all other things, help.
Funny. I thought I was so inept, I couldn’t even grow a flower, and now she wanted me to save her life.
I gave the Gods above the bird when she blinked. Even her gesture was slow, as though her body was tired and even something as simple as blinking required more effort than she had.
I sighed. I glanced down at her hand, pondering if I should hold it. I didn’t want to, but as her oldest child, I was sure she expected some sort of comfort. After all, I was the child who had known her the longest in her role as mother. Would she recognize I wanted nothing to do with her? Would she know if I did hold her hand, I didn’t really mean it?
She probably wouldn’t have cared, judging by the earnest way she looked at me. She expected me to save her, like it was part of my duty.
Despite my feelings about the woman, I didn’t want her to die. The problem was, I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I didn’t even know what was wrong with her. None of us did. We’d tried... everything. My magic was exhausted.
Guilt gripped me. I had to look away.
Perhaps my assessment of my mother wasn’t fair. As the oldest child, I was an experiment of sorts. No one was perfect. I knew she pushed me because she saw my potential and she was trying to bring out my best in me. I knew she wanted me strong because she wasn’t always going to be there and needed me to have the resilience to step up and lead when all I wanted to do was cower. She detested weakness, especially in me.
My heart clenched. I didn’t want to get dramatic and claim it was breaking, but there was no other way for me to describe what I was going through.
This was so not fair. We should have had more time.
“What can I do, Mother?” I asked. I did my best to control my voice, to make sure it didn’t shake. The last thing I wanted to do was reveal any sort of weakness, especially to her. “Tell me.”
My mother turned to me, her blue eyes brimming with tears. It was a strange sight to see. My mother wasn’t one for outward displays of emotions, especially not in front of her children. I nearly flinched. It was unnerving, being reminded just how human she was.
“You need to help them, Ava,” she said. Her voice did not quiver despite her emotional display. Even on her deathbed, she had more control over herself than I did. “You’re all they’ll have when I’m gone.”
By ‘they,’ she meant my two younger sisters. Bella and Courtney.
Bella was a classic middle child with wallflower tendencies and Courtney was the rebel. The baby. The one who got to break all the rules and get away with it. Meanwhile, I was the one who has to be dutiful, responsible... perfect. The curse of the oldest born. We were sisters filled with clichés and topped up with magic.
I leaned forward and smiled as bravely as I could. This time, I did not hesitate when I reached out and touched her by smoothing her grey auburn hair away from her face.
“Of course, I’ll look after them, Mother,” I said. “I always have.”
It was strange to see her so weak when she was known for being so strong. She was the most powerful witch I knew. And now, she was dying, frail and brittle, and I had no idea what to do to save her. I had no idea what caused her to get so sick so quickly.
I knew nothing.
I hated knowing nothing.
She reached out with her frail, thin fingers and my gaze caught on the paleness of her skin. The way the veins shone blue against the white, like thin spider legs against a wall.
I met her halfway and clasped her hand in my own, willing some of my strength into her. I hated this. She shouldn’t need my strength. She should have enough of her own.
But she didn’t.
More tears came, one right after another. I sniffed, mentally lecturing myself for being so vulnerable when my mother needed me to be strong. However, I could not help it, confronted with the fact that there was a good chance I might lose her. And that made me realized I loved her more than I had realized.
I resented her for how hard she was on me. I resented her for the pressure she put on me.