Blood Heir

Elvira

Back to dad’s room.

The room had fallen silent, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the far wall and the soft hum of breath escaping my father’s lips. His chest rose and fell rhythmically beneath the thick woven blanket Magreat had wrapped him in, one weathered hand resting limp over mine. The herbal concoction she’d brewed worked quickly, lulling him into the kind of sleep that was rare for him these days, deep, dreamless, peaceful.

I sat beside him, our hands loosely twined, my thumb brushing across the back of his aged knuckles. His skin was cool, thinned from time and illness, but there...