Theweightinherlowerabdomengrewheavier,bulgingfaintlybehesheet.
Almostthere.Almost.
Reyacouldn''''''''tsitupproperly.Shebentherlegs,half-reingagainsttheheadboard,herfeetphemattress,herhandsgrippingthecarvedbedframe.Sweatbeadedonherforehead,heramethysthairgingtohercheeks,makingherdelicatefaceappearghostlypale.
Afaintmoanbrokeinthedarkness.Soft,asifsqueezedoutfromthecrathewoodenfloorboardsbehebed.Ifoenedclosely,itwasalmostindistinct,yetitcarriedanagresonance,asifdredgedfromthedepthsofhersoul.
Tick.
Thepinkarmclothenightstandclickedasthehourhandpassedone.Reyaexhaledinrelief.Themoonlighttetheredtoherforeheadsuddenlysnappedfree,recoilinglikeabrokenrubberband,instantlyretreatingbacktothecream-coloreddesk.Besideit,ablue-coveredtextbook''''''''spagesflutteredfaintly,asifbrushedbyaphantombreeze,beforesettlingbatostillness.
TheonlysouintheroomwasReya''''''''sraggedbreathing.Everythingwasnain.Asifnothinghadhappened.
Halfanhourter,shesatupagain,wipingthesweatfromherbrowwiththebackofherhand.Shesweptherlong,violethairoveroneshoulderandcarefullyliftedthesheet.Behyaclusterofgrape-sizedvioletorbs.
Fromthenightstand,sheretrievedaslender-neckedgssbottle,pullingoutthewoodenstopper.Withherslenderfingers,shepinchedeachorbonebyone.
Pop.Pop.Pop.
Thecolorlessliquidinsideseepedout,collegile.Thepurplehusksshriveled.Withalightrubbetweenherfiheycrumbledintodust.
Shetedthem.Forty-eight.
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