She gripped her forehead as a sharp pain burst behind her eyes. Damn it, she cursed silently. Since her eyes had turned golden, since whatever this was inside her awakened—everything had been unraveling. Her temper, her thoughts, herself.
But if this was the only way to push them away… then maybe that was for the best.
No.
No, a voice inside her whispered. Don't become that person.
And then, silence.
The air cooled. The noise faded. The storm passed.
Her mother stepped forward, placing the children gently on a bed in the corner. She tucked them under a blanket, careful and soft, as if afraid the wrong touch might shatter them.
Then she turned to Esme.
"I know you're in pain," she said, her voice steady, eyes cool. "I know you're scared. You think this might be the worst of it. But Esme—this isn't how you speak to your children."
She placed a hand on Esme's shoulder. It was a brief, cold gesture—but it lingered in meaning.
