Flashback ( PDFDrive )

tunnel that spiraled down, down, down into the dark.
Are you? Sophie countered.
YEP! Like I said, it’s gonna be a party! Just don’t make it a pity party,
okay?
Is that why some of these memories are gold? Fitz asked, trying to keep
his concentration away from a gilded flicker right below them. You
think they’ll make us feel sorry for you?
No Those ones are just . . . distracting.
Sophie wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but she
could’ve sworn she’d caught a glimpse of her face again and shifted
her focus to the nearest memory so she wouldn’t be tempted.
Her stomach soured as she took in the scene replaying around her:
Keefe’s mom wearing a stiff green gown—the color the elves wore
when they were going to their version of a funeral.
Lady Gisela stood beside Keefe’s enormous canopy bed, watching
as he tried to muffle his sobs with his pillow—and she didn’t once try
to hug him or take his hand or provide any sort of comfort.
Eventually, Keefe wiped his nose and choked out, “What do you
want?”
And she smiled—smiled—and told him she needed him to take a
sedative so his crying wouldn’t bother his father.
I mean it, Foster, Keefe said as Sophie sucked in a breath. I can feel
that rising sympathy—and I appreciate it. But I don’t need it.
Sympathy’s not pity, she argued.
It’s close enough. So how about you focus on all that fury I can feel
boiling underneath? It’s always fun when you get feisty.
When she didn’t agree he added, That memory happened after your
planting—think about that My mom knew you were still alive as she watched