Issue #203
July 07, 2016

Fire in the Haze

And yet everywhere I looked, my periphery supplied ghosts of him: lounging indolently on a couch, reaching up to add a final stroke to a poem, bowing over my hand. And there, of course, pausing at the foot of the narrow stairs to the grand bedchamber. Looking over his shoulder, a half smile adorning the human face he wore even when we were alone.

The Night Bazaar for Women Becoming Reptiles

Hester's skin itched all over, and she longed for cool sand sliding against her bare belly. One, two, three eggs into her mouth, one sharp bite, and the clear, viscous glair ran down her throat. The shells were tougher than she expected. They tasted tart, like spoiled goat's milk. She waited for the change, but the sun crawled higher and nothing happened.

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The Night Bazaar for Women Becoming Reptiles
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One, two, three eggs into her mouth, one sharp bite, and the clear, viscous glair ran down her throat.
From the Archives:
The Moon Over Red Trees
...where she might well always be the jumped-up little Annamite to other Frenchmen—but what does it matter, if she has Raoul's love?