Chapter 9 · free to read
There is a ravine behind the western spur that no disciple is permitted to sweep. I found out that morning what the sect had been keeping there.
It had my seam. The one down my left cheek, in the same place, on a face a hundred years older than mine.
They still whisper down there. Not words. Just the shape a person makes when they are about to say a name and never get to.
So that was why she never crossed over. Not murder. Not vengeance. She had stayed a hundred years in a piece of glass because she could not put down what she had allowed.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.