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It hadn’t hurt, the day he had cut out his own heart.
Ones with dark, bitter corners and magic curled into thorns. Ones about monsters with elegant, razor-like teeth.
Andrew suspected this year would beat him up in a back alley and leave him for dead.
It was easier to speak less and hide his softest parts so he could fit between the shadows
He couldn’t risk allowing his mouth to say the things he only dared scream in his head.
had an expression flat as a severed heartbeat.
Dove could be tossed into anything and she’d bounce. Andrew was a glass figurine. Drop him and he shattered.
Or because Thomas only knew how to bite people for attention.
They walked slow, adrenaline draining with each step and leaving them with bones of water.
October arrived with cold teeth sharp enough to split bone.
“I’m not the one scared of October,” Andrew said, as if he wasn’t scared of everything else.
