Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil

by V.E. Schwab

María feels no maternal urge, no envy when she sees a babe swept up into a mother’s arms. Everyone insists it is her purpose, and it drives her mad, the idea that the shape of her body determines the shape her life must take. That her beauty is something she is expected to pass on instead of keep. That anything she makes will thrive while she is left to wither.