Someone You Can Build a Nest In

by John Wiswell

But humans never stood up for the right thing. They stood around feeling uncomfortable, and later pretended that feeling uncomfortable meant they were virtuous.

There was a sophisticated pleasure to terrorizing and devouring someone who thought they were above everyone.

It was the older families that clutched most of the wealth, even though it was harvested by the laborers. What the laborers got out of it that kept them from eating the rich, Shesheshen didn’t understand. She was a mere monster.

This revelry was a kind of fear, for hatred was the fear people let themselves enjoy.

“Fire! Fire is the wyrm’s one weakness!” Being burned was a weakness of hers, insofar as it was a weakness of every living thing she’d met. You could roast a sheep or a human on a fire and nobody called that their “weakness.” Having fire thrust into their eye sockets was a threat to them. Weaknesses were a human invention. They called it your weakness if they fantasized about murdering you with it.

She wasn’t kind because of some angelic virtue. It was insecurity. It was an adaptation to cruelty. Shesheshen wrapped her arms around Homily and held her to her chest for a moment, mourning the realization that she’d fallen in love with someone’s pain.

“No young woman of means has gone through her entire life without at least once surveying her opportunities and wishing for a dragon instead.”

Time was the sort of thing you had to care about when you belonged to more than yourself.