Rosemary Bakshi's Arc

Chapter 7 of 7

After her refusal, the fay went quiet. Her mother turned away to whisper at the pond. Her father paced into the dark pines, claws flicking. For one breath, neither of them watched the cage. Rosemary saw it then — a gap between two thorny branches, low to the ground, just wide enough for a small girl. Her hands shook so hard she had to press them flat to the dirt. The thorns near the gap were long and dark, and the dusky purple blooms trembled when she breathed. She thought of Clove, lost in the woods, still calling her name. She thought of her mother's kitchen counter. She pushed her shoulder through. A thorn dragged across her arm and tore the skin. She did not cry out. She pulled her legs through after her. Behind her, the tall blue shape of her fay mother turned. A sharp cry cut the clearing. Rosemary ran. She ran into the pines without looking back, blood on her sleeve, breath burning, feet light on the moss. The cage was behind her now. She was loose in the woods, and she was the one who had chosen it.