A Song to Drown Rivers

by Ann Liang

People always prefer the beauty who is oblivious, unaware of her own power, who blushes easily and is taken aback by strangers’ approval, who is soft and demure and lacking in just enough confidence so as to seek it out in the opinions of men. But these are such lies. All my life, the very same people had told me time and time again how gorgeous I was. How could I not know it? That was like growing up not knowing you were tall.

He smelled like sweet wine and cold smoke; he tasted like treachery.

“All I know,” Fanli says, his eyes like knifepoints, “is that she is worth more than you could ever dream of becoming. If killing you could bring her back, I would do it without hesitation.”