What Doesn’t Break

by Cassandra Khaw

Matilda worried sometimes that she would never grow up, that she would spend the rest of her life playacting at being an adult, her flesh aging while her soul remained this liminal half thing, neither girl nor woman but something more feral and excruciatingly itself.

Same

Ethics fed no one,

It seemed unthinkable that she was ever flesh and collagen, bone and soft organ. That she was ever anything but this keening grief, this agony, this mutilation of a soul.