Faline woke before dawn to find Grandmama’s gnarled hand shaking her roughly. The old woman’s face was gray, her breathing labored, but her eyes burned with desperate intensity.

“Get up,” Grandmama croaked. “We haven’t much time. I felt it in my sleep—death is near. I can feel it circling me like a wolf.”

“What do you need?” Faline asked, fully awake now.

“Bring me a mortar and pestle, belladonna leaves, and some Tears of Kings.”

Faline knew that Tears of Kings meant arsenic—the yellow powder they used for killing rats. Her stomach clenched. “Grandmama, what are you—”

“Don’t argue. There’s no time.” Grandmama struggled to sit up, her whole body trembling with effort. “We must complete the transference today. Now. Before death takes what’s left of my power.”

“But if you take poison—”

“I’m dying anyway, child. This way, I choose when and how. This way, I ensure everything passes to you, and nothing is lost.” She grabbed Faline’s arm with surprising strength. “Be quick about it. We haven’t much time.”

After throwing on a long tunic, Faline darted out the cabin door while her parents still slept. The morning air was cold, frost glittering on every surface. She ran to the cache hidden behind the pile of firewood Papa kept near the garden. Her hands shook as she dug inside until she found the bag of yellowish powder. Next to it was a small bottle containing dark green leaves.

When she returned to the cabin, Grandmama had dragged herself from her pallet to Faline’s bed. She lay there, gray-faced and breathing roughly, clearly in distress.

“What is the matter, Grandmama?” Faline whispered, setting down the items.

“I told you—I’m old, and my time is running out. The magic is eating me from the inside now. Every breath burns.” She gestured weakly toward the mortar. “Crush the belladonna leaves and mix three pinches of Tears. Add water to make it a paste.”

Faline did as she was told, though her hands trembled. She had no doubt now what this concoction was for. The mixture would be highly toxic—deadly within minutes.

Once she completed the mixture, she sat next to the old woman. “Grandmama, I don’t understand. If you die, won’t the transference stop?”

“No, child. I’ve been passing pieces to you for years now. Blood to blood, spirit to spirit. ‘Ex oona alteri’—from one to another.” Grandmama’s hand found Faline’s face, surprisingly gentle. “But there’s one part I haven’t given you yet. The core of who I am. My memories. My knowledge. My very essence. That can only transfer at the moment of death.”

“So you’re going to—”

“Die, yes. But death is just another doorway. Another transformation.” Grandmama sat up with visible effort, her face contorting with pain. “What I was will become part of what you are. You’ll hear my voice. Feel my presence. Have access to everything I knew.” She placed a hand on Faline’s forehead. “Ahnee-may-dee-tay,” she whispered.

A faint glimmer passed over the old woman’s eyes—the last of her magic gathering for one final spell. Then, before Faline could stop her, Grandmama scooped the poisonous paste from the pestle and put it in her mouth.

“Grandmama!” Faline yelped, reaching for her.

But Grandmama held up a hand, swallowing the mixture. Her face twisted in agony. “Repeat after me,” she gasped, her voice already weakening. “Ahnee-maytuah—oot ahnee mamair.”

Faline struggled to speak, her throat tight and heart racing. This was really happening. Grandmama was dying right in front of her. “Ahnee-maytuah—oot ahnee mamair,” she managed.

The old woman’s eyes began to dim. Her breathing came in short, pained gasps. She reached out and gripped Faline’s hand, their fingers intertwining. “Remember… your promise… never submit… make them… pay…”

Then her body slumped. The light faded from her eyes.

Faline leaned forward to catch her, tears streaming down her face. “Grandmama? Grandmama!”

A mist began to form—barely visible at first, like breath on a cold morning. It hovered over Grandmama’s body, growing thicker, more substantial. Faline watched in horror and fascination as it rose from the corpse, swirling with colors she couldn’t name.

The mist rushed toward her face.

She tried to pull back, but her body wouldn’t move. The mist entered her—through her nose, her mouth, her eyes. It was cold and burning at the same time, ancient and alien and somehow intimately familiar.

Memories that weren’t hers flooded her mind:

A young woman learning magic from an old master in a stone tower…

The Red Robes breaking down her door in the middle of the night…

Twenty years chained to a bed, forced to heal the rich and powerful until her magic burned away…

Rage. Such rage. The desire for vengeance burning hotter than any flame…

The room spun. Faline’s vision went white, then black, then filled with fragments of another life, another self. She felt Grandmama inside her now—not as a separate entity, but as part of herself. Like she’d always been there, waiting.

I told you, Grandmama’s voice whispered in her mind, clearer than ever before. We’re one now. Forever.

Then blackness took her.

* * *

Hands shook her roughly. She opened her eyes to see Mama looking down at her, face twisted with fear and something that might have been relief.

“What have you done?”

For a moment, Faline couldn’t remember where she was. Her head felt stuffed with cotton, and her body seemed to belong to someone else. Then she saw Grandmama—the body, now truly empty—lying next to her. The skin had gone waxy and pale, the mouth slack, eyes staring at nothing.

“Is she…” Faline started, though she knew the answer.

“Of course she is,” Mama said, her voice catching slightly. “After you mixed that poison for her.”

“She asked me to,” Faline protested, sitting up. “She had me mix belladonna and arsenic, then took it herself. She said it was her time.”

Mama looked at her for a long moment, then glanced at the corpse. Something in her face softened—just a fraction. “Perhaps it was. She was suffering.” She turned back to Faline, studying her face. “Why were you passed out on the floor?”

“When I saw her die… everything went dark. I think I fainted.”

“I suppose that’s natural. Death can be shocking, especially the first time.” Mama paused, and for just a moment, her hand almost reached toward Faline’s face, almost offered comfort. But then she pulled back. “Go fetch your father from the fields. He’ll need to deal with the body.”

“Yes, Mama,” Faline replied, climbing to her feet. Her legs felt strange, stronger somehow, like they could carry her for miles without tiring. Everything felt different. Sharper. More real.

That’s because we’re complete now, Grandmama’s voice whispered in her mind. Two souls, one body. My knowledge, your youth. My power, your potential.

Faline stumbled toward the door, trying to adjust to the sensation of having someone else inside her head.

“Faline,” Mama called. When she turned, Mama was looking at Grandmama’s body with an unreadable expression. “I’m… I’m sorry you had to see that. To be there when she…” She didn’t finish.

It was the closest thing to kindness Mama had shown her in months.

As Faline walked toward the fields, she caught her reflection in a bucket of water by the well. She stopped, staring.

Her eyes had changed. Where once they’d been a pale, ordinary green, they now blazed with vibrant color—deep emerald shot through with flecks of gold, bright and fierce and unmistakably unnatural.

Everyone will see, she thought with panic. They’ll know what happened.

Then dim them, Grandmama’s voice said calmly. It’s just another spell. You control the magic now, remember? It doesn’t control you.

“How?”

Think of them as candles. You can make them burn bright or low. Just will them duller.

Faline concentrated, imagining the color fading, becoming softer, more normal. As she watched her reflection, the brilliant emerald gradually dulled to a darker, more ordinary green. Still brighter than before, perhaps, but not so obviously magical.

Good, Grandmama approved. You learn quickly. Keep them dim around others. Only let them show their true color when you need the power.

Faline touched her face, relieved. At least she could hide this one thing.

* * *

The burial was quiet and somber. Papa and Torben dug the grave behind the cabin while the blacksmith watched. A small group gathered—more than Faline expected—keeping a respectful distance.

“Should we say words?” the blacksmith asked.

Papa nodded. “She was my mother. Whatever else she was, she deserved that much.”

He spoke briefly about Grandmama’s life before the Red Robes came, about how she’d been a healer in Finoral, how she’d helped people. He didn’t mention the magic, the Old Ways, or what she’d been accused of. Just that she’d suffered greatly and now her suffering was over.

Mistress Svenson, standing with her arms around her baby, said quietly, “May she find peace.”

It wasn’t forgiveness, but it wasn’t condemnation either.

As they lowered the wrapped body into the ground, Faline noticed something: the hostile looks from before had softened. People weren’t spitting or making warding signs. They looked… tired. Relieved.

After the grave was filled, people began to drift away. But before they left, several stopped by Papa.

“My condolences,” Torben said simply.

“She’s at rest now,” Mistress Svenson added. “That’s what matters.”

And then, as she passed Faline, the woman paused. “You have your father’s eyes again,” she said, studying Faline’s face. “Good.”

Faline realized her conscious effort to dim the color had worked. They saw only ordinary green eyes, nothing magical.

That night, Papa sat by the fire with a cup of something strong-smelling. Mama busied herself with mending, but there was less tension in her shoulders.

“It’s over,” Mama said quietly. “She’s gone. We can have our lives back.”

Papa nodded but said nothing.

Faline sat in the corner, feeling Grandmama’s presence inside her, hearing her voice commenting on everything.

They think they’re safe now, Grandmama whispered. They think the danger died with me. How wrong they are.

“Hush,” Faline thought back.

I’m part of you now. I can’t hush. But you can learn to ignore me… if you choose.

Faline closed her eyes. Part of her wanted to mourn Grandmama properly, to feel the weight of loss. But another part—the part that was now also Grandmama—felt only cold satisfaction that the transference had been completed.

She was thirteen years old, and she would never be alone again.

For better or worse.