Anji was blessed never to know darkness—I thought.
When I was eight I locked the wind in a box. It didn’t weigh much, made no noise if I shook the box, and looked rather a lot like a handful of dandelion fluff. I’d toss a pinch into the air and a breeze would whisper secrets in my ear. Other kids had soccer trophies … Continue reading Catching wind
My mother poisoned apples. My father hid his heart inside a tree. It was a family thing, dealing death and dodging it. I don’t have time for subtlety. I tried being quiet; I pretended to sleep. I tossed a twig and grew a prickly thicket ‘round my house. You cut it down. I call lightning … Continue reading Not your princess