Aftermath

It turned out that a Reader with one working eye could not read.

Ilse discovered this at midnight, in the kitchen, when she opened her mother’s notebook to prove to Maud that she was perfectly fine, and the groups of four swam on the page and doubled and would not lie still. The thread-sight was worse. She glanced at the household book on its shelf and the obligations inside it came up off the leather in a blur of grey, like breath on a cold window, and she had to shut her good eye and sit with her hands flat on the table until the room stopped leaning.

“Told you,” said Maud, from her mortar.

“You told me not to rub it.”

“I told you it’d clear in a day. A day’s tomorrow.” Maud did not look up. “The Warden’s going to sit with you. He’s said so. Don’t argue…