Where the Drowned Girls Go

★ ★ ★ 1/2 (rounded up)
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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And everyone knew that things from the other side of the door could absolutely leak through into this reality. Her hair had been brown, not aquamarine, before she found her fins. Christopher would die without his flute—literally die. Seraphina was the kind of beautiful that stopped hearts, and everyone who'd seen pictures of her from before her travels said that she hadn't always been like that. She'd been attractive, not impossible. The doors made changes. The doors stayed with you.

WHERE THE DROWNED GIRLS GO

afraid

“You've always said that there was a second school.”

Eleanor pulled her hands away. “The Whitethorn Institute. Cora, you can't intend—”

“You said they steal your students sometimes. That when you're not fast enough, or when the children are having a harder time adapting to life in this reality, that sometimes Whitethorn gets there first.” She sat up straight, giving Eleanor a challenging look. “You said it was where students go when they want to believe that everything that happened on the other side of the door was just a dream, or a delusion, and not a real thing at all.”

WHERE THE DROWNED GIRLS GO