Lila
My tea had gone cold again. It sat untouched on the table beside me, delicate steam long since vanished, the thin slice of lemon inside had shriveled and browned at the edges.
I stared at it for too long, unable to summon the will to lift the cup. My hands ached. My legs ached. Everything ached.
My heart felt too heavy.
I had dressed myself that morning. The wool-lined dress hung too loose across my shoulders, the neckline askew no matter how I tugged. I didn’t bother to fix it. I just sat there, half-dressed and hollowed out.
The fevers had killed my appetite and my body was starting to show it.
The door creaked open with a soft groan. A girl I didn’t recognize stepped in; she was blonde, slight, a little jumpy. She carried a small stack of fresh towels and a large vase of
