![]() ![]() It was a clean white line, as though someone had cut her open, torn out her heart, and returned it. She didn’t cry as her brothers had, but the most peculiar thing about her was the birthmark that lay between the spread of her ribs. Wil came out bloody and white, with purple veins marbling her cheeks, and no promises that she would live. The queen knew this child could well kill her. In her efforts to have a daughter, the queen had given the king three sons, and it was against the advisement of the king’s finest doctors that she have a fourth child at all. It was a song that only the queen could hear, calling sweetly in the rustle of the October leaves-for it had come to take her away as well. It was an old superstition from her wanderer’s upbringing, to keep fragile spirits from being lured off by the beautiful song of death. ON THE MORNING WIL WAS born, the queen ordered that sheets be hung across every window of the castle. For Aprilynne, who takes ideas and turns them into gold ![]()
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