She believed her mother, even told herself that this was not the end of the world, that all would be well and—like her mother had said—that she'd grow accustomed to the monthly inconvenience. Still, her heart had not pounded so heavily since the carriage incident years ago, or since seeing the ghastly image of Mrs. Whitledge in the boggart. This was, to put it simply, terrifying.

"I am strong, Mama," she said, wrapping her arms across her torso, "but I'm not sure I'm that strong."

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