I knew my people’s stories. I knew why we were Godless, though I had lived most of my life in a city with a patron goddess and felt only a shadow of the dread my father had. I knew the power the Godless were imbued with from childhood, to detect the parasite that had destroyed our gods.

I was admitted into the ranks of the witches, but I have never truly belonged, not even when my body started changing. The only place I am sure I belong to is in my lover's arms in the clearing where we can watch the stars and get lost in each other, our names falling from our lips into each other's ears while the night pretends not to hear.