Theweightinherlowerabdomengrewheavier,bulgingfaintlybehesheet.

        Almostthere.Almost.

        Reyacouldn''''''''tsitupproperly.Shebentherlegs,half-reingagainsttheheadboard,herfeetphemattress,herhandsgrippingthecarvedbedframe.Sweatbeadedonherforehead,heramethysthairgingtohercheeks,makingherdelicatefaceappearghostlypale.

        Afaintmoanbrokeinthedarkness.Soft,asifsqueezedoutfromthecrathewoodenfloorboardsbehebed.Ifoenedclosely,itwasalmostindistinct,yetitcarriedanagresonance,asifdredgedfromthedepthsofhersoul.

        Tick.

        Thepinkarmclothenightstandclickedasthehourhandpassedone.Reyaexhaledinrelief.Themoonlighttetheredtoherforeheadsuddenlysnappedfree,recoilinglikeabrokenrubberband,instantlyretreatingbacktothecream-coloreddesk.Besideit,ablue-coveredtextbook''''''''spagesflutteredfaintly,asifbrushedbyaphantombreeze,beforesettlingbatostillness.

        TheonlysouintheroomwasReya''''''''sraggedbreathing.Everythingwasnain.Asifnothinghadhappened.

        Halfanhourter,shesatupagain,wipingthesweatfromherbrowwiththebackofherhand.Shesweptherlong,violethairoveroneshoulderandcarefullyliftedthesheet.Behyaclusterofgrape-sizedvioletorbs.

        Fromthenightstand,sheretrievedaslender-neckedgssbottle,pullingoutthewoodenstopper.Withherslenderfingers,shepinchedeachorbonebyone.

        Pop.Pop.Pop.

        Thecolorlessliquidinsideseepedout,collegile.Thepurplehusksshriveled.Withalightrubbetweenherfiheycrumbledintodust.

        Shetedthem.Forty-eight.

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