Crista nodded calmly but Red Day shrieked inside her, eager to enact its justice on this self-admitted killer. As Red Day’s anger exploded, the AI seized control of Crista’s right hand and grabbed one of her knives. With a shout of no, Crista ran up the stairs. After bolting the cellar door shut she stumbled to the porch and vomited.
nebula above her has grown more diffuse. She exhales, clicks the button to log another successful breach, and lets herself blink while the flight computer calculates the next FTL jump. She never closes her eyes during the breach. Whether or not it helps doesn’t matter. What’s important is to maintain her sense of self.
She drank the detoxifier the next morning, pouring it out into a spoon. At first, she thought: orange juice. Then: petrol. Then: sour milk. It fizzed as it hit her insides.
Between death and birth lies a deep night. In it, the soul stretches out, comes apart at the seams, and disperses, to eventually recreate itself anew.
He is a gorgeous boy, elegantly dressed, the smell of cotton and linens at his pulse point. His skin is so pale that she can see the blue of his veins.
It is told that the first demon was born when a young human child from the first village on this world wandered out into the forest nearby to explore.
“But he’s my son …” his voice trailed away as he stared into her blank face. This was futile, he realized. How could she, a spell made flesh, possibly understand?
Here’s the thing you need to know to understand this story: I was meant to be an only child. The doctors, when they examined my mother, only counted one heartbeat.
