donning one of her thin black sweaters and a long, dark maroon skirt that flared when she turned, Corvina left her wet hair to air-dry. Adjusting the crystal bracelet that her mother had made for her when she was four—with an obsidian, a tiger’s eye, an amethyst, a labradorite, a red garnet, a malachite, a turquoise, and a moonstone—she settled it over her pulse, letting the weight and the warmth seep into her. It had always been an anchor for her, something Dr. Detta had told her she could train her mind to use to focus and settle in times of stress.
Yis. Fashion.
