A Beautiful Poison

by Lydia Kang

His father was a banker and a bore, and Ernie was dutifully following in his footsteps.

Slicing up dead socialites at the request of a janitor is not on my schedule.”

And consider it a blessing not to have such a beautiful girl in your sphere. It’s a dreadful vexation to be a shadow when you’re supposed to be the sun.”

For her, children generally fell into three age categories: infants, perpetually in the way, or debut ready. This one was certainly in the middle category.

He knew what it was to have orphan status thrust upon you. Like someone had pushed you through a door, locked it, and left you in a new land with no map. All comforts were gone, unreachable. It seemed, at times, you had to relearn how to speak again. When you were grieving and in despair, basic things were different, like actually responding to yes and no questions. How to eat. How to sleep. How to smile. That one had taken him over a year to relearn.

In her world, all gifts became payments for something, sooner or later.

“Acceptissima semper, munera sunt, auctor quae pretiosa facit.” Mr. Rossi turned to Ernie for a translation. “It’s Ovid. The most acceptable gifts . . . are the ones made precious by our love of the giver.”