[By now, she knows the woman in that twisted place had not been her, and logically, that boy was not this boy. The Barge works in mysterious ways: it shows the people you could have been but aren't and the actions you could have taken but didn't. He had spoken psalms and disarmed her; he had claimed her as his own. He had said he'd seen her soul. He had healed her. She can't help but feel a fear brushing icy fingertips over her spine at his voice, his face, his words directed at her, and she hates it. But there's a touch of longing as well, something small and voiceless in her heart. She hates that too.
Who are you? the woman who she'd never been had asked him, trembling at his touch, at his raw power. When she finally replies, long after his message had been sent, her voice is flat. She scratches the reopened wounds at the small of her back while she speaks. Her question is different this time.]
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Who are you? the woman who she'd never been had asked him, trembling at his touch, at his raw power. When she finally replies, long after his message had been sent, her voice is flat. She scratches the reopened wounds at the small of her back while she speaks. Her question is different this time.]
What are you?