Osborn

d at my moth

every right to be there. Francine, in a ridiculously flamboyant black hat

or your loss," she murmured

ecoiled, my voice dripping with ice.

pped forward, his face tight with disapprov

ng sound. "You wish to speak of cl

self. You are too sensitive," he said, d

th a rage that vibrated through my entire body

right to be here." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. "And if you c

ding, for him, for any of it. I was about to unleash the plan that had be

er got th

he stumbled backward, colliding with the small

e table tipped, as the urn containing my mother's ashes tumbled throu

th being struck. My mother's ashes, a fine, pale grey dust, mingled with the shards of po

ry escaped my

, my fingers digging into the gritty dust, tears blurring my vi

pressed to her mouth in a mockery

did not move either. "Do not go near it, darlin

o her. He act

he mess, and began sweeping my mother's remains into it with a dustpan. Then, he walked out of the chap

dical cruelty of the act. He moved with a kind of brisk e

led with more venom than I knew I possessed.

d then he did something I neve

lapp

hock. A high-pitched ringing began in my left ear, and I could taste the faint, coppery tang of blood on my tongue. The warmth he had left on my skin felt like a burn from ice, and I

a cold defensiveness. "There were embers in the basin," he said, his voice loud en

terrible, final clarity. Th