Free Blind the Stars (Rose of the Dawn Series Book 3) by Ily Maguire Page A

shirt.
    The
door opens and Dory steps into the room. She smiles and walks over to stand
beside me. Her reflection in the mirror is harsh. The lines on her face are
deep and cracked. Discolored spots appear on her neck and chest.
    I
look from the mirror to Dory.
    The
skin on her face is grey. I remember at one time her eyes had the sparkle of
stars. Like the ones outside Aegis. Now, they look like dull stones in a gaunt,
empty face. I stare at the lines beside her eyes, around her mouth. The creases
on her brow. There are slight discolored spots on her cheeks and across her
nose.
    “I
wish I could say it was an illusion, Rose.”
    “What
do you mean?” I exhale. The air must be filtered because it’s making me
lightheaded. I rub my forehead. I don’t have any lines like Dory.
    “When
we were growing up, Mom always lamented the aging process. She said she would
never get old.” Dory doesn’t answer my question.
    “She
never really had to worry about looking old. I always remember her as
beautiful.” I think of my mother’s beauty fondly.
    “Mom
was stunning, but she didn’t think so,” she says. “I don’t know how she’ll
survive.”
    “She’s
been surviving for over a year,” I counter.
    “Her
ARd parts won’t hold up without rejuvenation. Some of her parts may
disintegrate without the general maintenance and upkeep.”
    “Why
did she do it?” I ask as if I don’t know. I didn’t know my mother. I admit it.
    “Because
it made her happy,” Dory answers.
    I
stare at our reflections. I don’t look as tired as my sister.
    “What
will happen to her?” I ask.
    “I
don’t know. She’ll probably lose more and more of herself until she’s all
chipped away. Until there’s nothing left.”
    “But
there’s nothing left anyway. She’s completely ARd,” I state. What more is there
to chip away?
    “Her
soul, I guess,” Dory says and I have nothing to say. She picks at a blemish on
the side of her cheek. She touches it with her index finger, rubs with all
four, and then her thumb. She picks again. It starts to bleed. She wipes her
hand over it.
    “It
doesn’t matter about Mom,” I begin. I touch Dory’s hand and she lets it fall
from her face. I walk back to the bed and she follows me.
    “What
does matter then?” she asks, lying on the bed beside me.
    “What
matters right now is finding Evie.”

9
    I
doze off and wake up when Dory gets up from the bed. She doesn’t even make a
dent in the mattress. She leaves the room. It’s another airtight seal.
Shutting the door behind her I can’t hear a sound from the living space beyond
the door. The room is cool and dark. I get up from the bed, kicking my legs
over the side and walk over to open the door to the rest of the quarantine
cellar. My eyes don’t have to adjust because it is the same low light as my
room.
    Pike
is sitting in the same chair, but with Dory’s blanket over his chest and arms.
He sleeps.
    Ezekiel
is on the couch. He’s sleeping, too.
    A
door behind me opens.
    I
turn.
    “Hello?
Anyone there?”
    No
one is there, no one answers.
    I
go over to the open door, closing the one to the living space behind me. The
light gradually brightens as I enter and heat rises, sensing motion. Warm air
blows around me. It’s the master suite with a king-sized bed, chaise lounge,
and drawers built into the length of one entire wall. I walk over to the
closet. My heart pounds so loud, I can feel it in my ears. I tense my muscles
and squeeze my fists. Even my bionic one.
    “If
someone’s in there -” I begin and then throw open the door. A fully-stocked
walk-in closet, filled with dresses and skirts hanging neatly in rows, shoes
stacked from floor to ceiling each with their own little pocket or cubby. My
father’s suits take up half of the closet. No one is inside.
    I
walk past another mirror without bothering to look at myself. I leave the room
the same way I came in. The lights dim. I close the door behind me. Across my
room there is yet