![]() ![]() Emmaline didn’t care for them, but you-you’ve always been a bit too fond of things, haven’t you, darling? Not at all like your sister.” Somehow, her words come out mean. Things are better when Mum is in a good mood. Mostly she smiles when Dad is around, or when she and Dad are off in the corner, whispering together, but right now it’s just me and Mum and a bunch of birds and she’s so happy I decide to ignore the funny feeling in my stomach. I remind myself that we’re indoors-the white walls, the concrete floor under my feet-and I look up at my mother, confused. It wears a bright, neon-green bracelet around one leg. I try not to flinch as one of the large white birds swoops past me. Birds, dozens of them, screech as they stretch their wings. There are trees everywhere, so tall they nearly touch the pipes and beams of the open ceiling. We’re in a big, wide room that smells like dirt. I turn my face into the pillow, digging fingers into cotton flesh as the memories crash into me. ![]() ![]() They soar through the sky with strong, steady wings, masters of their destinies. White birds, white with streaks of gold, like crowns atop their heads. Discordant shrieks ring and echo, ring and echo. ![]() I hear them, I see them, I close my eyes and feel them, feathers shuddering in the air, bending the wind, wings grazing my shoulders when they ascend, when they alight. ![]()
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