A flamethrower maneuvers through the crowd. Fire spouts from her fingertips. She shoots a flame up into the air and catches it in her mouth, and when she smiles wide, the flame is still inside. The nobles clap and cheer. An ember falls, singeing the shoulder of my dress. It’s made of yet another impractical thing: freshly picked violets. And though they are my favorite flowers, it’s a dress that is only good for one night,
