Sublime

susurrus

the moon is always jealous of the heat of the day, just as the sun always longs for something dark and deep.

do not know which she treasured more: the luminous beads themselves, or the envy of her sisters when she wore them.

Perhaps one day, she said, there would be a safer time. When women could walk the earth, shining bright with power, and yet live. But until then I should keep my gift hidden, move through only the darkest corners of the world, like a beetle through soil.