By Scarlett “DB” Mosher, TIWP Alumni

What are you hungry for?

Avicta couldn’t shake the fool’s words from her head. Hoping that sleep would calm her nerves, she’d taken to bed earlier than usual. The moon hadn’t even passed the middle of the sky before she stumbled into her tent. 

She thrust herself into her pillows, smothering her face in silk and tassels. Overwhelming noise and flashing lights swam in her head, the buzz of shouting men still ringing between her ears. Her arms and legs sank into the cold cushions like stones into water-and feeling just as heavy. 

But nothing seemed to quiet that question in her head. It rang, clear as a bell, above the hum of pain. 

What are you hungry for?

Avicta let out a loud groan, cumbersomely swinging her body across the cushions. Her eyes faced upward now, meeting with the full moon and stars shining through the sheer fabric above. To her surprise, light of the sky was softer, more comforting than the darkness behind her eyelids. 

Maybe I’m hungry for the moon, Avicta thought, letting out a slight chuckle. It does look delicious.

She felt her body soften, sinking down into her bedding. The noise of the rabble below faded, voices overtaken by the murmur of the night breeze. A gentle breeze swept under the fabric of her tent and  across her face. A cool hand caressed her cheek, as if to say look upward, look at the stars. Look at the moon. Avicta obeyed. 

And for a moment, peace. She wasn’t here, wasn’t at the camp, wasn’t by her father’s side, wasn’t lying with the cold stone beneath her and ritual knife above. Not a body, not a mind-a wind, a breeze, a light, a leaf, a cloud. Weightless in the stars, ebbing and flowing with the rise of the sun and setting of the moon. 

A sudden sadness swelled in her throat.