The Wish Collector

by Mia Sheridan

“If others don’t fear you a little, son, you’re not doing it right.”

"But, Daddy," she’d said, "if I don't let my tears out, won't I drown inside?"

"Sacrilegious. That is serious. The problem is, Clara, I don't know if that sin trumps all the ones I've already committed."

“I think you already drank some of that stardust, Angelina Loreaux.”

“Love makes a place for itself even if there isn’t one, Mama,” she said quietly. “Love carves into the hardest of places.”

“Love can’t just disappear when this life is through, can it, Jonah? Even if our bodies turn to dust, the love we feel must go somewhere.”

Once upon a time, he had been a man used to the spotlight and now he was a man who danced between moonbeams.

“You’re pining.” “Pining?” Cecil crossed his arms. “Mm-hmm. Definitely pining. The way you say her name. It’s like you’re saying a prayer.”

Why must the color of one’s skin determine destiny? Determine wars. Separation. How did the color of one’s skin create such distinction when no one asked to be born what he or she was? Surely God on High hadn’t intended that. Had He?

“If there was a curse put on John, Angelina isn’t locked in it. If Angelina lingers, she lingers for him. For the soldier man.”

“He looks like a man who’s been terribly hurt by the world and believes there is nothing left to love about him anymore.”

He wouldn’t let her fall. Though in all honesty, it was far too late for that. She’d fallen. Somewhere along the way, she’d already fallen.

“I must like danger too.” She smiled but then grew serious. “Because I think I’d follow you anywhere, Jonah.”

“I’ve been dreaming about you for a while now,”

This was Clara, and she was in his arms, and he never wanted to dance with anyone else again. Only her.

“You dance between moonbeams, don’t you, Jonah Chamberlain?”