hter's

a's

daughter, floating in water that runs red like spilled wine. Her arms drift beside her

art stops. The wo

n like guilt. Aisha's eyes flutter open when I pull her against my chest. She looks at me with those

voice sounds like a ghost aski

the colour of shame. I press towels against her wrists, but the cuts are deep. T

?" I whisper in

tares at the ceiling like she'

ambulance, and he brings his mask with him,the one he wears for cameras and crowds. He w

s microphone. "She's been struggling with depressi

ngue like honey. Sweet a

eras and squeezes it like he loves me. But his fingers dig into my palm

as a cry for help?" asks the bl

erchief. "Sometimes our children need to know how much we lo

e words taste lik

magic. He checks his phone, straightens his tie, and w

with his jaw clenched tight, his knuckles white against the steerin

ng at me. "Remember when she was twelve? She threatened

know it. But Faisal needs his l

bout earrings

, turning to face me at a red li

cuts through the

ng? That maybe Aisha's just weak? That

k and leaves a red mark shaped like my fury. Th

eyes. For a moment, he looks like the little boy

ay," I whisper. "And

eling the cold earth between my toes like punishment. The roses smel

rosemary for remembrance. My grandmother taught me these things when I was s

ames dance orange and gold, reaching toward stars that hide behind cl

o the smoke. "Help me. Show

hes. For just a moment, I swear I

poison, child. Some soil

Sparks fly upward

ind me, I hear footsteps on grave

adows and the glowing windows