“This has always been inevitable,” the yaksa told her. Priya’s hands moved, as if of their own volition, to take the blade. The hilt bloomed under her hands, seeking her skin: great flowers, red as blood, gold as a rising sun. “I would always need you completely. I would always want you completely. And you’ll be mine. With me, you will find wholeness.” “But not my beloved,” Priya whispered. Malini. Beloved and betrayed, although she did not know it. “Do not worry,” the yaksa said, smiling, smiling. “I’ll be beloved enough for you from now on.”
