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Marie wasn’t sure what woke her up, but she had a gut feeling it was important. It was dark in their room, but she could hear the crying. Muffled sobs, barely perceptible, coming from the top bunk.
“Patty?” Marie whispered.
The sobs stopped quickly. There was a beat of silence before Patricia cleared her throat and answered.
“Whatcha waking me for?” The other girl grumbled.
Of course, she’d never let anyone see her crying. So much had been taken from her: her family, her eyes, her innocence. She refused to let anyone take her pride, even her best friend. Marie wondered if her tear ducts even functioned now. Could she even cry normally? There was that usual ache, that desire to make a wish and fix her. But wishes on the skull heart never ended well. Marie had learned her lesson there.
“I had a bad dream,” she lied. “I know it’s stupid, but could I—“
“Get up here,” Patricia said, pretending to be exasperated.
Marie pushed off her covers and climbed up to the bunk. Back in the orphanage, they had to share a bed. Marie had grown used to having Patricia’s arms around her every night. But that was back when Patricia still had arms. She took off her prosthetics at night, so this time Marie was the one holding her.
It was still Patricia, warm and alive, even if she could still feel the scars under her nightgown. She wondered if she felt the same or if the Skullheart had rendered her body as cold as stone. If so, Patricia didn’t complain. They had changed so much, but somehow not all.
“There,” Patricia said. “Think you’ll sleep better?”
Marie closed her eyes, surprised to find how comforted she was by resting with Patricia again.
“Yes,” she said. “I think I will.”