The Starving Saints

by Caitlin Starling

A miracle so profound may be indistinguishable from horror.

It looked like he was planting a fingernail. But that can’t be right. It grew like all the rest of them.

“I don’t hate you,” Ser Voyne whispers. “Because I haven’t told you to?”

She wonders if he has a heart, and if it lives in the same place it does in her own chest.

We’re the same, the two of us. You’re just desperate to be seen. So desperate you’ll kill for it. Die for it.”