Chapter 6: Hope

Friday morning arrived with the same routine Sarah had grown accustomed to over the past week. She woke to her alarm, got dressed in jeans and a hoodie, and headed downstairs where Emmy was already at the breakfast table, chattering happily to their mother about something that had happened in art class yesterday.

“And Mrs. Patterson said my self-portrait was emotionally sophisticated!” Emmy was saying, bouncing slightly in her booster seat. “That’s a really big word, isn’t it, Mommy?”

“It certainly is, sweetie,” their mother agreed, smiling warmly. “And it’s a wonderful compliment.”

Sarah poured herself cereal and sat down, watching Emmy animate her entire story with hand gestures and facial expressions. Her little sister - and Emmy was her little sister now, in every way that mattered - was wearing a bright yellow dress with white flowers, her hair in the braids Sarah had done for her that morning. She looked happy. Radiant. Completely at peace with who she was.

The guilt twisted in Sarah’s stomach like it did every morning, every time she saw Emmy’s innocent smile.

“Ready for school, Emmy?” Sarah asked when breakfast was finished.

“Yes! Oh, Sarah, can I ask you something?” Emmy’s eyes were wide and hopeful. “Do you think maybe Lola could come over this weekend? Just for the afternoon? We could play in my room and maybe draw together and -”

“We’ll ask Mom after school,” Sarah interrupted gently. “You’ve been good all week and done your homework, I’m sure, I can put in a good word for you.”

“I’ve been good! I promise, and thank you so much!” Emmy hugged her sister enthusiastically before grabbing her backpack and heading out.

Sarah and Emmy walked together down Madison Avenue, Emmy skipping slightly, still chattering about her plans with Lola, about what games they’d play, what they’d draw, what snacks she hoped Mom would make. Sarah listened with half her attention, the other half consumed by the constant low-level anxiety that had become her companion since Halloween night.

Five days. It had been five days since she’d transformed Lars into Emmy.

Two more days until the spell was complete, until reality finished restructuring itself, until Lars Morrison was erased permanently from existence except in Sarah’s memory.

They reached Oakwood Elementary, and Emmy waved goodbye enthusiastically before running to join Lola, Tiffany, and Erika by the playground. Sarah watched her go - so small, so carefree, so completely Emmy - and felt the guilt threaten to swallow her whole.

Sarah turned and walked the two blocks to her own school, Roosevelt Middle School, where eighth grade felt simultaneously endless and meaningless. What did pre-algebra matter when you’d fundamentally altered reality itself? What did social studies homework matter when you’d erased your own brother from existence?

When Sarah reached the front entrance of Roosevelt, her three best friends were already there waiting, like they always were. Jessica Torres stood out immediately - her curvy frame wrapped in a bright red jacket, her dark curls pulled back in a high ponytail, her warm brown eyes scanning the arriving students. She was always the first one there; her parents dropped her off early on their way to work across town.

Melissa Taylor stood next to her, tall and composed, her straight black bob perfectly styled as always, her dark eyes sharp and observant behind thin-framed glasses. She wore all black - jeans, turtleneck, boots - looking more like a college student than an eighth grader.

Katie Williams was there too, pale and ethereal as always, her strawberry blonde hair falling loose around her shoulders, her green eyes tired like she hadn’t slept well. She wore a oversized gray sweater that made her look even smaller than she was.

The four witches. The ones who’d cast the spell that had changed everything.

“Sarah!” Jessica called, waving. “Over here!”

Sarah walked over, trying to smile, trying to act normal even though nothing had been normal for five days.

“How’s it going?” Katie asked, her soft voice concerned. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine,” Sarah lied automatically. “Just ... you know. Busy week.”

They chatted about normal things as more students arrived - the math test coming up, the drama in Jessica’s friend group about who’d said what about whom, the new episode of a show they all watched. Sarah participated mechanically, saying the right things at the right times, but her mind was elsewhere.

She was thinking about Emmy sleeping peacefully last night, Mr. Hoppers clutched tightly in her small arms. About how Emmy had thanked her for helping with math homework, her little face so earnest and grateful. About how Emmy had asked if her braids looked pretty this morning, spinning to show them off, her dress flaring out. Emmy was so happy. So completely, genuinely happy in a way Lars had never been.

That should have made Sarah feel better. Instead, it made the guilt worse.

“So,” Melissa said casually, glancing around to make sure no one was listening, “how’s Lars doing?”

Sarah’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise. In five days, none of her friends had mentioned Lars. Not once. They’d asked how Sarah was doing, had checked in on her, but they’d never directly asked about Lars.

Because they were forgetting too, Sarah realized. The spell was working on them as well. They’d cast it together, and Melissa had said they’d retain “shadow awareness,” but even that was fading. Soon they’d only remember Emmy, just like everyone else.

“You mean Emmy,” Sarah said quietly. “Emmy’s doing well.”

“No,” Melissa said, her eyes sharpening with focus. “I mean Lars. How is Lars doing? Inside Emmy. Is he still there? Still fighting?”

The direct question, the acknowledgment that Lars had existed at all, broke something in Sarah. The tears came suddenly, overwhelmingly, unstoppable. A sob tore from her throat, loud and ugly and full of the guilt and grief she’d been holding back all week.