to being a thick mug. It didn’t lessen the danger. No matter how much it was altered, Caelin’s words held unending power. It wasn’t a curse that bound the women to the cup, it was a promise. Promises are stronger than curses. Promises strengthen over time. There are many ways to break a curse. There are few ways to break a promise, and promises when broken, always come with consequences.
~The Tea Girl~
He never left her alone at night.
While searching bug-infested hallways and moldy rooms for Old Ma’am’s tea book, Lyric often paused to stand at one of the windows of the house, her gaze finding the lit Kramer home across the way. Her kerosene lantern threw shadows everywhere, the constant cawing of the ravens digging itself under her skin. Every day she stayed, she risked herself. She risked her health in a house falling apart around her, and she risked the community’s animosity.
And yet, he never left her alone at night.
While standing at the window, the darkness a blanket over the earth, she watched his silhouette in a second story casement, his frame leaning casually. Watching and waiting. Keeping her company from a distance.
Three days passed. Three days of searching. Three nights of standing in windows.
The fourth night was no different. He watched her even now from his room on the second floor.
Taking a sip from a water bottle filled with tea, Lyric lowered her lantern, her gaze searching the contents of an ancient trunk in her mother’s old bedroom. It had been hidden under a pile of rubble she’d leafed through the day before.
You’re foolish to trust him, a bird said.
Men are nothing but trouble, another raven added.
“Ye of little faith,” Lyric mumbled.
A raven fluttered down to the trunk. She was a small raven but spunky. Lyric’s Aunt Violet. I was killed by a man, the bird retorted.
Lyric snorted. “Because your insanity rubbed off on him.”
Violet’s feathers shook, and she preened herself in annoyance. Insanity? Aren’t we all insane?
Lyric’s brows rose. “We’re connected to the tea cup, not ruled by it. You had a mental illness you should have gotten help for.”
Violet cawed, insulted. I did not!
“I’ve heard the stories, Aunt Vi.”
She’s right, Violet, a raven called down.
Lyric believed it would have been different if the cup made the women in her family immortal and powerful, but there was no such thing as immortality. There was only the world and the spirits that made up the world. Those spirits could be manipulated, as with the cup, but not changed. It would have been heady to be immortal with the powers to truly drive men insane. Like modern day sirens. Instead, they were simply mortals who could have mortal illnesses and die mortal deaths but never truly die. They were forever tied to a tea cup. Men weren’t driven insane by their beauty or by some mysterious power. They were driven insane because living with someone who could die at any moment was like living with a terminally ill person.
Dust choked Lyric as she lifted the trunk’s lid, the scrabbling sound of claws causing her to stumble backward.
A raven screamed and dove before rising, a mouse dangling from its claws.
Lyric fought back nausea.
You’ll have to eat them one day, the raven pointed out.
Revolted, Lyric shuddered before approaching the trunk more slowly, her lantern lifting. A yellowed wedding dress and stacks of photo albums stared back at her. Swaddling clothes, cloth diapers, and childhood crafts sat beneath the dress. They were Lyric’s.
A raven cawed, and Lyric glanced up at her, her heart clenching.
“Mine?” Lyric asked.
She knew who the clothes and crafts belonged to, but she wanted so badly to hear the bird speak, so badly to hear the voice she hadn’t heard since she was seven. There was no reply.
I see it, a bird cried.
Lyric’s gaze left the raven and fell back to the trunk. There, beneath an old fractured tea set, sat a bound leather journal, the
~The Tea Girl~
He never left her alone at night.
While searching bug-infested hallways and moldy rooms for Old Ma’am’s tea book, Lyric often paused to stand at one of the windows of the house, her gaze finding the lit Kramer home across the way. Her kerosene lantern threw shadows everywhere, the constant cawing of the ravens digging itself under her skin. Every day she stayed, she risked herself. She risked her health in a house falling apart around her, and she risked the community’s animosity.
And yet, he never left her alone at night.
While standing at the window, the darkness a blanket over the earth, she watched his silhouette in a second story casement, his frame leaning casually. Watching and waiting. Keeping her company from a distance.
Three days passed. Three days of searching. Three nights of standing in windows.
The fourth night was no different. He watched her even now from his room on the second floor.
Taking a sip from a water bottle filled with tea, Lyric lowered her lantern, her gaze searching the contents of an ancient trunk in her mother’s old bedroom. It had been hidden under a pile of rubble she’d leafed through the day before.
You’re foolish to trust him, a bird said.
Men are nothing but trouble, another raven added.
“Ye of little faith,” Lyric mumbled.
A raven fluttered down to the trunk. She was a small raven but spunky. Lyric’s Aunt Violet. I was killed by a man, the bird retorted.
Lyric snorted. “Because your insanity rubbed off on him.”
Violet’s feathers shook, and she preened herself in annoyance. Insanity? Aren’t we all insane?
Lyric’s brows rose. “We’re connected to the tea cup, not ruled by it. You had a mental illness you should have gotten help for.”
Violet cawed, insulted. I did not!
“I’ve heard the stories, Aunt Vi.”
She’s right, Violet, a raven called down.
Lyric believed it would have been different if the cup made the women in her family immortal and powerful, but there was no such thing as immortality. There was only the world and the spirits that made up the world. Those spirits could be manipulated, as with the cup, but not changed. It would have been heady to be immortal with the powers to truly drive men insane. Like modern day sirens. Instead, they were simply mortals who could have mortal illnesses and die mortal deaths but never truly die. They were forever tied to a tea cup. Men weren’t driven insane by their beauty or by some mysterious power. They were driven insane because living with someone who could die at any moment was like living with a terminally ill person.
Dust choked Lyric as she lifted the trunk’s lid, the scrabbling sound of claws causing her to stumble backward.
A raven screamed and dove before rising, a mouse dangling from its claws.
Lyric fought back nausea.
You’ll have to eat them one day, the raven pointed out.
Revolted, Lyric shuddered before approaching the trunk more slowly, her lantern lifting. A yellowed wedding dress and stacks of photo albums stared back at her. Swaddling clothes, cloth diapers, and childhood crafts sat beneath the dress. They were Lyric’s.
A raven cawed, and Lyric glanced up at her, her heart clenching.
“Mine?” Lyric asked.
She knew who the clothes and crafts belonged to, but she wanted so badly to hear the bird speak, so badly to hear the voice she hadn’t heard since she was seven. There was no reply.
I see it, a bird cried.
Lyric’s gaze left the raven and fell back to the trunk. There, beneath an old fractured tea set, sat a bound leather journal, the
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