Written by Thanisha Chowdhury
Art by Brigitte Ryan


Once night stains the room black, I watch my husband sleep. It’s the only time I ever see him without his lips twisted around a curse. His eyes flutter three-quarters shut, and I wonder how easily my thumbs would sink into the eggshell white peeking out from underneath the lids. 

I’ll make you a goddess, she croons through the window. For a price.

She drips moonlight onto the world below her, and my chest nearly stings with envy. How many others are in the same place as I, under her gaze, waiting, watching, praying?

I stroke the metal handle resting heavy against my palm, equal parts searing and freezing.

Spilt blood for fresh blood. 

I float closer, until his breath fogs the blade. 

Mortal for divine. 

She grins with milky teeth from where she hangs in the sky, and the walls hum along with her.

Now.

I drive the knife into his neck. His screams echo and gargle in his throat, and it’s almost as pretty as the man he pretends to be, when he buys me pearls to cover the bruises blooming across my throat.

It takes two more until he lies still. I tremble and look at her. My eyes refuse any other sight.

Go on.

I bring my scarlet fingers to my mouth. They’re as sweet as sorrow. 

Under my skin, my bones grind and shift. If my lungs were still human, maybe I would scream. With every breath that rips through my throat, my head approaches the ceiling, and when I bare my teeth, they tear through my lips and black blood dribbles down my chin.

My love, she breathes, and the forests rip from their roots. You’re beautiful.

And I am born anew. 

And I am born anew. 

And I am born anew.