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Buttercream and Broken Wings

The old woman had no human mourners, so Willowbright stayed; if not to mourn, then to mark her passing at least. By the time the widow's grave had been covered over and the gravediggers sat atop the new wound in the earth to pass a cup between them, the moon had pressed its thumbprint deep into the sky. Willowbright wrapped her arms around her hollow stomach.

The old woman had no human mourners, so Willowbright stayed; if not to mourn, then to mark her passing at least.
Seven Dreams of a Valley

I urged the men to pack their belongings and abandon the village. But the boy who had become a man laughed and said that he had never met anyone who, when a fire began to burn, advised to walk towards it instead of running away. So, as we lay in the quiet of the lake, I sang them a song of endurance, taught to me by the warriors of the desert, to whom I would unfailingly go every year carrying letters from their families, smudged in tears.

On the fourth night... ...I was at a wedding.
Audio Fiction Podcast:
Seven Dreams of a Valley

Podcast: Download (Duration: 24:06 — 16.56MB)
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On the fourth night... ...I was at a wedding.
From the Archives:
The Night Bazaar for Women Becoming Reptiles
One, two, three eggs into her mouth, one sharp bite, and the clear, viscous glair ran down her throat.