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sundress from what seemed like lifetimes ago lay in a singed heap at the bottom of the bathroom trashcan, where she’d stuffed it as soon as she found it in a corner of her room. The fewer physical reminders she had of that night, the better.
    She snatched up the diary, for once grateful the red leather book had the power to distract her. Chloe ran her fingers over the cover of the only recorded history of a past she didn’t remember. Her fingers fumbled with the ribbon. The trembling only got worse as she tore open the envelope with her name on it.
    The writer possessed an elegant, scrolling script. Chloe would have known it for a woman’s hand even if Eliot hadn’t told her it belonged to her dead aunt. She perched on the edge of the bed and began to read.
     
    Dear Chloe:
     
    If you are reading this, then the worst has happened. People you love may be dead or dying; you have learned unbelievable truths about yourself; and a strange young man has come to you with dire warnings and death in his eyes.
    You must believe him, Chloe, because the warnings are true.
    The Abandoned have followed us here. I did not think it was possible, after all the sacrifices we made, including having you taken from me. None of us thought it was possible, and we have all been proven fools at the expense of two worlds. You are the only thing left that can hold the portal closed against the very same creatures that destroyed a home you do not remember. If you refuse, then this world will burn too.
    They will speak to you of sacrifice and necessity. They may mention our shrinking wards, and how only you can restore them. They may even tell you of the ritual that requires blood and sacrifice. I will do none of those things. Instead, I have questions.
    Who is your favorite person in this world? Your favorite place? Do you love your music and your cinema, and do you have a cherished book you read over and over again?
    If so, hold those things in your mind. Now picture them burning, the people you love screaming as the Abandoned slay them or take over their bodies. Picture every book ever written floating away when you touch it, because it has been burned to ash. Know that every movie and song you have ever seen or heard exists nowhere except in your memory. Think of these things, because they are the reason you must accept this responsibility, Chloe. Not because of a world that’s dead already, or for a family you don’t remember. No, you must accept this fight because of the world you come from:
    This world. This is your home now, and no matter how much they talk to you of the one that died, this is the one you must defend. You are the only one that can hold the portal closed. Your heritage is important, but it is not the most vital thing we need from you.
    Willingness is.
    I hope what you find in this book offers the explanations you need. I hope it will absolve us all somewhat, for what has been done to you and what is yet to be done.
     
    Callista

    In the borrowed bedroom where she could just faintly hear waves through the open window, Chloe Burke held a dead woman’s diary that only she could touch. She heard Eliot below, playing music louder than usual and banging things as he worked. She made a mental list of things to ask him and tried to still her shaking hands. Chloe tried not to feel sick as she turned the pages.
     
    High Summer, 15th Day, 6018;
    Capital Citadel, Annwyn
     
    Fall has always seemed the cruelest season to me. Fall, not winter, is the real season of death. Annwyn Forest will be bare of leaves, its branches stark and spindly; the orchard robbed of all its fruit; the fields cut to stubble and burned.
    I hate fall. By Mid Fall, I’ll be married. I am barely nineteen.
    It is, by far, the cruelest season.
    The old blood is jealous of its secrets, and our family produces few heirs. They use words like duty and responsibility and privilege, as if my blood does not already sing to me with the burden of the land I am to