V
The Price of Love is LifeThe price of love is life. And I cannot die. The bars of her cage cut painfully into bare feet, and she shifted minutely to the left, bringing that shoulder into contact with the rough iron of her narrow prison. The morning’s wound, courtesy of a barefoot girl with good aim and a sharp rock, had already closed, the shoulder good as new.
Magic. She spat through the bars, white sputum landing with a muffled splat on the offal not far below. She could feel her front teeth growing back. Soon, she’d have to open her mouth to spit, just like those that spit on her. Magic.
It had been the birth magic, she’d decided in the long months she’d been imprisoned, first in a cold, dank cellar, then on display in this makeshift birdcage. In trying to save her foster father N
