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434 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 4, 2023
"Who would we be without our scars? Who would we become without our pasts?"
"Sometimes, everything we desire already stands before us, if only we are wise enough to see it."
A blessing, they called me when they needed me. A witch, they called me when they did not.
Elias had no wish to be dazzled. He liked to see things clearly.
When the impressionists paint us, they paint us like that, he in the velvet chair and I on the rug before him, book in hand, grinning. The smile means something different to the artists, I am sure. They did not know the way things were between us then. But the gist is the same.
When I look back at our story, there is no single place where it began. Our tale is not like the horizon over the sea, a single line that might be traced, but a constellation, a scattering of silver points through which our history is woven. Still, when I think of how it all started, I think of two nights. The first is the night I poisoned Elias. The second is this.
Who would we be without our scars? Who would we become without our pasts?
I wept for my table, which I had cherished. I cried for my parents, who were not there, and for Elias, who did not know. Finally, I cried for myself. For the pain of being young, the bitter sting of unfairness. I cried because I had been attacked by strangers, and it hurt as deeply as they intended.
The bards sing songs about Elias. I hear them sometimes as I walk through the city. They are not songs about overcoming hardship, or defeating it, but rather settling into it with grace. Allowing yourself to soften, so when the world tests you, as it always will, you bend but do not break.