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She had to endure. To stay alert. That way she would be ready. She had to stay ready. She would not let herself fade away.
It was as if all colour had been leached from the world. Except her. She stood there in blood red, stark against the monochrome.
She looked up at him. “You’re a monster.” He raised an eyebrow. “Noticed that, have you?”
The solution, the author declared, was sponsored births. The article suddenly stopped being editorial and read more like an advertisement.
“Everyone who wins says they were good, but they’re the ones who tell the story. They get to choose how we’ll remember it. What if it’s never that simple?”
“The world already knows she’s mine,” Ferron said, his words pointed, “but if you’d like, I can remind them.
“Your friends must have thought very little of you, if this seems like care.”
If you ever go near her again, or speak to her, or so much as set foot in this wing again, I will kill you, and I will do it slowly, perhaps over the course of an evening or two. That isn’t a threat. It’s a promise. Now get out of my sight.”
It was beautiful, and it felt like a betrayal. The world was not supposed to be beautiful any longer. It was supposed to be dead and cold,
