“Somewhere in the time since I left Keszi, I have begun to wish for more. For the gentle embrace of my father, for a quill and ink I could use to write out my own name, for stories that didn’t make me flush with apology for daring to speak them. For a man who kneels with my name on his lips.”

“Somewhere in the time since I left Keszi, I have begun to wish for more. For the gentle embrace of my father, for a quill and ink I could use to write out my own name, for stories that didn’t make me flush with apology for daring to speak them. For a man who kneels with my name on his lips.”

— Ava Reid