@SirArminius Google docs. Nothing beats the revision history, any device, and walk way insta saving. Regrettably, I still need to export to docx for editor.
Tiny legs chew my eye. Blood claws paw prints smear my face now flatbread toppings. Dangling arm one thread from mud. Bloody beard spills senseless words stretching into lullaby milk sweet dancing from her lips. I crawl lungs ice and cheese stink into the tiny dead mouth as tiny legs chew my eye…
@MHuzaifaNizam Hospital visits are responding to life, a reaction. Gentle. Meaningful.
The letters at 17 are unprompted. They are risk. Vulnerability at our weakest. They are also Love.
Darek’s hand found Nayeli’s. She leaned into him. A sharp twist behind my ribs. Yun. Wet eyelashes. Warm. Steady. The same look.
Romance felt like something that belonged to other people—girls in clean dresses with bright eyes and louder laughs. Girls who still had families.
But seeing them together—I wasn’t wrong to want that too. Not now.
Someday.
Possibly.
Maybe.
@SDDonovan Her eyes caught the sunlight, sparkling brighter than any piece of riverglass. She smiled, as if she expected this outcome, before splashing water straight into my face.
My fork scraped against the plate, louder than I meant. My mind spun in quiet loops.
My uncle cleared his throat. “You don’t need to give her something extravagant, Yun. But it should be meaningful. Thoughtful. The Valens care about reputation. As should we.”
I abandoned my fork. My eyes drifted to the window. The blue-pink of the sky reminded me of the days Minah and I would stay out too late collecting riverglass. She would never admit it, but she liked pretty things too.
“I’ll figure something out.”
My aunt smiled and reached across the table, placing her hand on mine. “I’m glad you’re going, Yun. Really.”
My shoulders slumped.
After dinner, I excused myself and wandered back to my room. I pulled out my riverglass collection, one of the few things I salvaged from my old home, inspecting each piece. Too modest, she’d said.
I picked up my most precious stone. The warm honey-brown color pulled memories of her to the surface. I held it for a long moment, admiring how it caught the light, then carefully placed it back in the wooden box.
To them, it was time for me to find something else. I could never let go that easily.
But for a while longer, I stood there, staring at the shiny stone, wondering when everything that used to feel like enough had started to feel small.
My aunt spoke up. “Yun, it’s customary to bring a gift to these sorts of occasions. Have you given any thought to what you’ll present to Lyra?”
“Girls like shiny things, right?” I said as I prepared my next bite. “I’ve got some really shiny stones in my riverglass collection.”
My aunt went quiet. Her brow furrowed, then softened into a smile. “Indeed, few girls can resist the allure of shiny objects,” she replied carefully. “But a stone may be a bit too modest for a girl like her.”
"Books are sometimes windows, offering views of worlds that may be real or imagined, familiar or strange. These windows are also sliding glass doors, and readers have only to walk through in imagination to become part of whatever world has been created or recreated by the author. When lighting conditions are just right, however, a window can also be a mirror."