You would avenge her.

[wintersday]

Those aren’t dreams for anyone who wants to live – and you do. When you set out zailing, it was a mansion full of marvels you imagined coming home to: drowning pearls and blue feathers, wine from Irem. A family, perhaps. But now the gun is heavy in your hand, and it feels like a story unfinished.

You burned love stories, that night, without ever having read them. You remember firelight, music, resolve. These things can be found again. But – not here, you think. You know a better way.

In Parabola, all laws falter. What’s broken past repairing can be fixed.