With every step Ellen takes, her body drags through the water, leaving chevrons in her wake. The surface dimples as water skippers skim away from her, and little bubbles break the surface as fish dart up to eat the algae and insects floating on the surface like gasoline.
“Oh my god, you’re huge! Are you sure you’re not having twins?”
A shapeless smog had descended on Cairo, veiling the city as though it were afraid to show its face to the world.
Stella blinked. She stood in the same place, still naked, but Celandine’s blood had vanished and the statue was unmarked. Its eyes were closed, and very much made of stone.
Coen rolled his eyes. For a moment he’d pleasantly forgotten that Gwen’s husband Martin was even there. The man hadn’t made a single kill the entire trip, which was bad even for a beginner.
“All the stars you look up to—kid, you just wait. By the time you’re thirty or forty, they’ll have tell-alls recounting all the therapy they need just to sleep at night.”
@ahsimlibrarian @levarburton @fiyahlitmag @ClarionWest @voodoonauts That's so kind. Please include @fiyahlitmag, @anathemaspec, @neonhemlock (4 novellas and an anthology this year!), @MithilaReview, @constelacionSFF, @GlitterShipSF , and @FiresideFiction! They center marginalized SFF writers in a way that creates space for others to come through.
