Saturday, 21 April 2018


After the feast I found a glassblower in the woods to craft me a new heart. You should have seen it. The glass was made of sugar and she told me I ought to be careful with it in my chest. Steer clear of sticky fingered children; try not to sneeze until the heart has settled. It was strange to be so beholden to the vessel of my chest. I walked delicate as a full cup deep into the trees. Twigs snapped beneath me. When I got to the clearing I placed my old heart upon the ground. It was rancid and leaking but looked quite natural amongst the leaves. Soon the boar would come, I knew; soon my old heart would return to the forest. By the time they snarled into the meat I was already gone. I am heading north. I am taking my faint crystal heart to the tundra. The snow is lovely this time of year.

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