Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil

by V.E. Schwab

Born restless, her father used to say. Which was fine for a son, but bad for a daughter.

Nothing fits, even if it’s fitted, because it’s not really about the size of the body or how it fills the clothes, but how much space it takes up in the world.

maybe in the absence of Alice she could become someone else. One of the feral girls, who have been planted and watered in their bodies, who have pruned their looks, or let them grow wild, the same girls who turn their full brows into a wolfish power, their painted lips into a weapon.

Sabine looks at her kindly. “A name is like a dress. It might be by nature pretty or plain, but it is the person wearing it who matters most.”

happiness makes time move quick.

A steady current of students fills the hall, headphones on, heads bowed, one of those grim reminders that your life is small and the world is big, and even when it feels like it’s falling down, it’s only falling down on you. To everyone else, it’s just going on as usual.

“Bury my bones in the midnight soil, plant them shallow but water them deep, and in my place will grow a feral rose, soft red petals hiding sharp white teeth.”

“Never be sorry,” she said, “for who you are.” Charlotte understood then that burning the pages of her journal had done nothing. Her mother already knew. She looked back at her husband and son, standing on the steps. “Some people keep their heart tucked so deep, they hardly know it’s there. But you,” she went on, turning back toward Charlotte, “you have always worn it like a second skin.” She ran a hand down her daughter’s arm. “Open to the world. You feel it all. The love and pain. The joy and hope and sorrow.” She pulled Charlotte close, carrying the scent of the garden. Of home. “It will make your life harder,” she said into her daughter’s hair. “But it will also make it beautiful.”

“The world will try to make you small. It will tell you to be modest, and meek. But the world is wrong. You should get to feel and love and live as boldly as you want.”

Some people keep their heart tucked so deep, they hardly know it’s there. But you have always worn it like a second skin. It will make your life harder. But it will also make it beautiful.

But it is their anniversary, and Sabine’s mood is high, her eyes alight with happiness, and so Charlotte only smiles, grateful that she’s spent the last few years learning to put up walls around her mind, to shield the thoughts that are not safe to share.

Anger and resentment are the worst. They’re like rocks in your pockets. Too many, and you’ll drown.”