Weyward

by Emilia Hart

Fiction became a friend as well as a safe harbor; a cocoon to protect her from the outside world and its dangers.

Will it be a boy, she wonders, and grow up to be like Simon? Or a girl, and grow up to be like her? She isn’t sure what would be worse.

The physician spoke with confidence. He was a man, after all. He had no reason to think he would not be believed.

I would have prayed, if I had believed in God.

We never thought of ourselves as witches, my mother and I. For this was a word invented by men, a word that brings power to those who speak it, not those it describes. A word that builds gallows and pyres, turns breathing women into corpses.

A great many things look different from a distance. Truth is like ugliness: you need to be close to see it.