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One of these aurora cycles, I’m going to be forced to bite my tongue so hard I sever the tip. I’m sure of it. The fact that it’s still attached is a fucking miracle.
The harder you care, the more fragile everything seems. Easier to just . . . Not.
Survival’s funny. Some wear it like a whisper, others like a scream. Mine’s a scorched skeleton of flame-forged rage that keeps me upright. Keeps me moving forward.
Folk don’t like to live so close to the clouds, the air this far up feeling . . . borrowed. Like it doesn’t belong to us. Like it belongs to the dragons.
None of them looked malnourished, but there’s more than one way to starve a soul.
Make yourself indispensable and folk dig their claws in. Doesn’t matter if they’re good or bad or somewhere in the middle. If there’s anything I’ve learned from this life, it’s that.
Sadness is like stones that stack inside you, making it harder to move. Ignorance is my self-preservation tonic, and I’ll swear by it until I die.
I usually cut first, don’t think later.
Pahpi found us then. He picked her up and took her inside, then tucked me into my pallet, kissed me on the nose, and told me it would make sense when I’m older . . . I don’t think I want to understand.
You can reshape a turd an infinite number of times, but it’s still a turd.
I think she saw me, surrounded by the mulched bodies of freshly slain folk who’d come to hunt me down, and decided broken things make the sharpest weapons . . . so long as you fetter them to yourself so they don’t fly away.
If I could ball myself up like a Moonplume and nestle amongst the stars when I know my time has come, I would. Not that I think many would seek me out, but I’d die knowing I left something bright behind in this beautiful world sketched in so many shades of ugly.
She swallows, and I can hear the violent thump of her heart rallying in the way hearts do when folk are preparing for battle.
“I’ve seen bigger. But hey, if whipping a female makes you feel like a strong boy, then don’t let me stomp your dreams. Don’t worry, I can handle it. I’ve got enough balls for the both of us.”
Mended . . . Such a funny word, signifying the end of something. But every hurt has an echo if you look deep enough. A wound is never fully gone.
The upper mezzanine erupts in a riot of sound, the Nobles looking between each other, some of them throwing their hands in the air as they heave words toward the Chancellor. Like it’s somehow his fault I possess a brain that thinks, a mouth that speaks, but lack the self-preservation to avoid using both while standing in their presence.
“I am sorry,” the male murmurs. So am I. Sorry I won’t get the chance to avenge Essi’s death, and that I’m leaving this beautiful, broken world. I love living, painful as it’s been at times. I love the colors of our kingdom and the way our clouds are ever changing.
“I’m still intent on killing you, if given the chance,” I warn past clenched teeth. “Don’t forget to cut off my head,” he murmurs. “Or I’ll haunt you for eternity.”
“Kaan, no. I did not agree to this!” His body stiffens, steps slowing, a low, grating sound coming from him. “Say it again . . .” “What?” “My name, Moonbeam. Say it again.”
“I’ll show you something sharp.” “Every word that comes out of your mouth is sharp, Moonbeam.” He one-handedly unbuckles one of his saddlebags and tosses it over his other shoulder. “I’m half dead already, bleeding out at your feet. Can’t you see?”
“Because I was mourning someone I loved very much. I discovered my pah had done something unforgivable, and I took her revenge because I thought she no longer could. Now I have regrets.”
It’s like a youngling drew the building on a piece of parchment, then peeled it off and whispered life into its walls, giving it the strength and substance to stand.
“There’s a difference between being cared for and being commanded. Know it.”
My key to acclimatizing: don’t get bogged down by the overwhelming details. Pick something. Hone my focus. Don’t drown.
