The Girl Who Drank the Moon

by Kelly Barnhill

His kindness was his dearest currency. His scars, she knew, had kept the silly girls away. He deserved someone extraordinary to love him.

“Any good witch knows how to build a tool with what’s on hand.”

Luna’s heart was pulled to her grandmother’s heart. Was love a compass? Luna’s mind was pulled to her grandmother’s mind. Was knowledge a magnet?

And she knew: there is no limit to what the heart can carry.

In the center of these changes stood Ethyne—all reason and possibility, and a hot cup of tea, with a baby strapped to her chest.

Ethyne transformed the room into a place of healing for both mother and daughter. Soft surfaces. Thick curtains for when the day became unbearable. Pretty flowers in jars. And paper. So much paper (though there always seemed to be more, and more and more).

Sometimes Luna helped. Ethyne prescribed soup and healing herbs. And rest. And endless love. She was fully prepared to provide all of it.

“I know, darling,” Xan wheezed. “I love . . .” And she drifted away, loving everything.

There is no love without loss, she thought. My mother knows this. Now I know it, too.

“The heart is built of starlight And time. A pinprick of longing lost in the dark. An unbroken chord linking the Infinite to the Infinite. My heart wishes upon your heart and the wish is granted. Meanwhile the world spins. Meanwhile the universe expands. Meanwhile the mystery of love reveals itself, again and again, in the mystery of you. I have gone.

“The world is good. Go see it.”