The Wailing Woman

54. Tears of Blood and Stars Pt. 2

"My tears are transparent. There is nothing special about them." Her hope was squashed, and everyone resumed their work. I had no intention of telling her a lie. The dead deserve the truth.

I was barely getting some kind of answer for Grimm's wings. But I know my father's books have a solution. I know they do. Dark magic breaks all the laws of controlled magic. But translating Latin was not my specialty. It was tedious work. Between my nightmares of my mother's and Matias' death, and my thirst for revenge. My mind was all over the place. Thinking of too many things at the same time.

None of the souls seemed to know about this, they probably saw a weeping girl who easily made more friends with the dead than the living. The truth was that having voices inside your head can often feel like a hallucination, a creation of my deepest fears. Except they proved me wrong every time they predicted a death. The voices—the spirits—felt unreal. At least the dead were once living beings and were kinder. But I suppose death can be a humbling experience.

The young girl attended my nails, her posture slouching as she felt defeated. How many times have I sat in the same position? Too many times to count. "What's your name?" Her gaze flickered toward mine. "Maggie." She answered.

Once Beth stopped putting blush on my cheeks and the older woman finished adding another bobby pin into my hair, I leaned in speaking low enough for only her to hear. "I'll talk to him and see if there is anything that can be done about the Restless but I don't want you to expect something will happen. Now, tell me, who is down there that you know?" She was brimming with watery eyes.

"Don't cry," I said sternly. "You don't have to cry anymore." From the corner of my eye, I could see Dilara raising a brow.

Maggie held her tears back but her voice wobbled. "My mother. She is there." She talks about her. She tells me about the notes she would always leave her. On the fridge, on the table, and the mirrors. Maggie was forgetful, always needing to be reminded about her keys or what she had to do for the day. Slowly, the threatening tears were washed away and replaced by a glowing memory. Her mother always signed her notes off with an I love you. As if she needed to be reminded that her mother loved her. A mother's greatest worry is if their child knows they love them.

Beth picks up after Maggie, she starts talking about her sister and what they did together when they were children. Her sister, Diana, was older by five years and Beth idolized her. She followed her and always tried to keep up with her. There was a time Beth put herself inside her sister's suitcase because she was leaving for college. Unfortunately for her, she didn't fit. Everyone laughed and Dilara too.

After they quieted, Beth said full of nostalgia. "I want to go back to when I was eight and she was thirteen. When she found me tolerable and showered me with attention. I want to be sisters again."

I couldn't help but think about how briefly I was a sister too. Matias, who lived for fifteen days, was robbed of having hopes and dreams. They took him from me, and they took away memories I could have had. They left me with nothing.

The reminiscent memories kept the souls going, few began to speak about their loved ones. The mood was a mix of sorrow and freeing bliss for remembering the life they once lived. They looked happy. A sting of jealousy crawled in my throat, how lucky they were to go with their loved ones while I couldn't yet, because it wasn't right to end my life. I should get to choose when I'll die. Death will not decide for me, it is my life.

Those thoughts slipped away into the murky waters of my mind as the spirits did. The souls talked, and I listened. Still, they were a couple who walked with wariness and spoke with hesitation.

Marcus, one of the souls, was pulling the drawers open as he arranged necklaces and earrings trying to figure out which one went best with. He spoke about his father being terrible at fishing. He accidentally caught Marcus' cheek by the hook. He ended up needing stitches but he smiled at the memory. Few giggled.