What would it be like to serve as Alterna to this boy, whom of all people I should refuse to serve? And what perversion of upbringing or nature makes that easier for me to envision than becoming his superior? A revolution was fought to undo these patterns, and yet here I am, unable to picture any future but one where I repeat them. That won’t do. That can’t do. I won’t let it. I will not let Power be right. Not about my people. Not about my desires. Not about me.
