The Seventh Bride

“But I wasn’t planning on dying anytime soon, so it works out for now. The nice thing about immortality is that you have plenty of time to figure out how to get rid of it. Don’t worry about me.”

“You might be a fool,” said the clock wife. “There are many and will be many more who serve those who will be harming them.”

She stood up, rubbing her rear end where Maria had shoved her. She was a bit annoyed about that, but this did not seem like the time to dwell on it.

If I have learned anything at all over this last week, it’s that crying doesn’t seem to help at all.

Was she going to get light, amused, sardonic Crevan, or enraged Crevan ? I suppose it doesn’t matter. They’re all different shades of the same madman.

Maria exhaled and went for tea. Rhea stifled a sigh. Her mother also believed that tea was the cure for all problems—or at least, that most problems would not get any worse in the time it took to boil water, and you’d feel a little better off with a cup of tea in you.

Well,  she thought, half waking,  I am living in some evil dream already. There would hardly be any point to nightmares.

She felt her face get hot, and buried that thought as fastidiously as a cat burying its own droppings.

Three living wives were not significantly better than seven. Really, any number over  none  was pretty bad.