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THE FEW THINGS Alethea chose to take with her lay meticulously folded in her suitcase; schoolbooks clipped to the right side and more in her bag; the wooden box of herbs and potions sat in the middle, covered by a sweater.
"Ye kin leave him 'ere instead," Delilah, who had taken a seat on the bed next to her suitcase and was using a brush to remove Érebos' loose fur, said.
"He helps me sleep."
Her blonde friend looked at her and a smile stole across her lips. She picked up the cat, cradled him between her hands and looked at him as if he were the most adorable baby of the Scottish Highlands. "Thank ye fur taking such good care of her, mah little mukker," she said in a high pitched voice, and Alethea snorted. "She doesn't want to do it herself. A' ye have tae do now is mak' sure she goes tae bed before three 'n' doesn't stay up so late."
Alethea closed the suitcase a little too firmly, causing Érebos to flinch and turn to Alethea with a look of indignation. As if he wanted to condemn her for it. "I take care of myself. I've done it all my life," she reminded her, walking to the dresser to avoid Delilah's gaze.
To face the truth would be too cruel. Who wanted to see how little concern there was for their own welfare? Where was Alethea's arrogance when she would rather destroy herself than save herself?
The dark music box caught her attention. Behind books and jewellery, it stood in the far corner, almost forgotten. Ever since the conversation with Professor Riddle and his theory that she was as susceptible to the dark forces as moths were to light, she hadn't dared open it to listen to the tune and watch the dancer perform her dance.
And it had nearly driven her mad.
"How long wull ye be on th' train?" the golden witch inquired, and Alethea blinked, tearing herself away from the magical music box. "About twelve hours. I could use the time to simply rest."
"And ye deserve it. Yer grades are better than thay have bin in the last few years, and ah never thought that was even possible. Ye spend sae much time studying, it's a wonder yer head still works. Alethea, with all yer thinking, ye don't have time tae think. Ye need peace 'n' quiet."
"Oh, I'm sure I'll have some when I visit my mother's grave," she said dryly, shoving the music box into the suitcase anyway, still unable to look at Delilah. "Al', ye slept 'til well past midday yesterday. Don't ye realise how exhausted ye were from th' week?"
Alethea refrained from mentioning why she had been so exhausted. Being pierced by shards, having a panic attack, dealing with the pain and being healed by Riddle had drained her of all her energy.
Without being plagued by dreams, she had fallen into bed the night before last and slept until the sun had set. Afterwards she had been even more tired; had spent the whole day reading in her bed, with the purr of Érebos as a gentle background noise, hoping never to have to think again.
