I touch the silky sepals, rolling one down, pressing hard before pulling my finger back. It unravels, crimped from the folded bruises I just forced upon it. Tearing it free from the stem, I rub it between my fingers until it begins to break apart, familiarizing myself with this strange thing that somehow sprouted from me.
My attention narrows on the shimmering petals …
I press my finger against them, sucking a tight breath when I find they’re no longer flimsy like a rose. They don’t yield like the sepal did. Instead, they crinkle, then crack—little slivers of their brittle edges breaking off like shards of glass, blunting the hardened bloom that must have begun to calcify the moment I snipped it off.
Like it …died.
A surge of nausea clogs my throat, and I stuff the bloom in my bag. Not wanting to look at it. Think about it.Feelit.
Tittering laughter and hurried footsteps stop my heart, my stare flying down the alley to the right. A boy and a girl dash from the rain, running straight at me.
“Shit.”
I bag the snips, flip my hood, snatch my necklace close to my chest, and tuck myself into a ball pressed against the barrel—easing the edges of my cloak over my bare legs, feet, and arms.
Please don’t see me.
Their steps draw closer, the sound of my rapid heartbeats surging in my ears, battling with the distant memory of a conversation I had with Kai. Back when we were going throughTe Bruk o’ Avalanst, looking at the illustration of an Aeshlian climbing from the volcanic basin …
“What happened to them?”
“That’s a very long, very sad story. One I wouldn’t taint your pretty ears with.”
“But you tell me everything …”
“Not that, Orlaith. Never that.”
My mind fires with possibilities that blister my insides.
What if these people see me—will they look at me like I’m an abomination?
Will they worship me? Hunt me?
Bind me to a stake and burn me?
They draw close, stalling.
Fear wells up inside me, and I huddle deeper into my hood.
A coin clatters to the stone by my bunched legs, and then they continue sprinting down the alley, dashing from the rain on hurried steps. My breath pours free, relief blossoming through my chest so fast I feel like I’m going to be sick.
I peel back the edge of my hood and look at the small, silver coin in the puddle before me …
That was too close.
Hands trembling, I thread my necklace around my neck and try to knot the ends together, but they don’t hold.
My skin doesn’t peel back up again.
“No, no, no …”
I fumble, knot, reknot, then pinch the clasp together. My false skin takes me in a claustrophobic gulp that’s never felt so good, and a relieved sob bursts free as I tip my face to the sky.
I need to get out of here.
* * *
Irap the door with torn and bloody knuckles, eating the spike of pain like the penance it is.
