There’s a comfort to our clinging, to the familiarity of togetherness, where the pain is predictable and the pleasure enough.
I raised my eyes heavenwards, seeking strength in the blue expanse. Let Zoe have her foolish notions. I would not let Rocco trouble me today.
The werewolf has been scheduling men from the app back-to-back every night—even on the days leading up to the full moon, though she knows she shouldn’t.
What I wanted to know was this: What does it feel like to create something wondrous? To have a vision and then to perfectly translate that vision onto canvas?
Apollo’s entire being is unstoppable. Yet even he cannot keep up with Zephyrus, with the whipping stone and wind.
The girl takes another step across the ice. She is bold. She is thirteen. She doesn’t care if things break.
I can twist any set of cards to say that.
When you intentionally hurt the ones you love most, you leave behind a demon you cannot kill.
What it was was I wondered if I had the right to call it an assault.
There’s nothing harder to let go of than an already-gone thing.
She follows the signs deeper as a weight in her gut grows colder with every step. It’s almost been long enough that she’s forgotten the finer details. Almost.
People wanted to see the girl who’d disappeared and come back. They wanted to see Romy—who insisted she could not be seen.
You are thirteen so, of course, I am convinced I still have some say over you.
“Commerce!” Emily shouted. “The hoarding and ceding and exchange of power. I see no clearer path into the souls of human people.”
That’s the problem with photographs, isn’t it? They remind you who is missing.
What we liked most of all was each other. All three of us, the glorious fabric of the relationship, the family we made of ourselves—but we were losing the exhilaration we’d once felt, the wild emotional loops of our shared-identity roller coaster.
The audience Q and A begins, and someone asks about the relationship between kink and queerness.
Do not fear your moments of sorrow, your deep frustration, the force of your being. I have made you strong enough to want and not receive.
I’d tilt myself and roll to each side on the dirt, offering the bees new areas of my body.
A house birthed me and will likely be the death of me.
What kind of story would you like to write?
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