Tears tumble down my cheeks. I cry for my past, for the little girl who held her father’s hand until it grew cold. For the little girl who struggled to survive in a kingdom that hated her. I cry for Adena—my sun in the darkness I was drifting toward. I can still feel her bloody body in my arms, see her broken fingers bound behind her back. I cry because death is undeserving of her. But she deserves my mourning, my every tear held back. I cry for every time I felt as though I shouldn’t. For every time I felt as though it made me weak.
