There was something sick in me, something wrong. Even baby birds knew how to shriek, even kittens knew how to mewl, even puppies knew how to whine. Papa had told me I hadn’t even cried when he’d pulled me from between my mother’s thighs. I hadn’t protested when he dragged me through the streets of Oblya, hadn’t protested when Rose had chided me or when Undine had slapped me. My eldest sister was right; I would smile blithely if someone tried to saw off my leg. But no one had ever told me that I was allowed to scream.
