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10 the devil in the details
Circe King calls at midnight. A shrill cry emits from Mercy's phone amongst the tense, fading peace of Monmouth Manufacturing. The BMW is in park, resting in its rightful place out the front of the building, wheels still glued with the presence of the fairgrounds. Mercy is shrouded in darkness. She's a cocoon, a caterpillar nestled within the safety of her sheets. Ronan stands by the pool table, and Gansey lies on the floor by his crumpled, beloved Henrietta. He's only just begun to fix the pieces. Her phone rings again. It's a loud, survivalist feeling that kicks in. Her thumb moves to the accept button but Mercy wants to do nothing but reject the call.
"Mama?" It slips out. Mercy hasn't called her mother anything close to something warm since she was 14 years old. But she's exhausted. "What's wrong?"
"There's shadows. Horrid fucking shadows in your room."
Mercy shifts, confused. Circe King has always been familiar with the shadows, why is she complaining now? "What do you mean? There's always shadows, Mama."
"No, you stupid girl." Circe snaps. "There's shadows."
This changes nothing for Mercy. She repeats, "There's always shadows."
"Your room is shrouded in them," Circe says. "It's blocking my dreaming. Too many in the forest. Too many in the heart." She isn't making much sense, babbling without reason. "They're gone, you know. All gone. I can't see them anymore."
"Who, Mama?" Mercy asks. "I don't know what you mean. You were supposed to stop dreaming."
