The birds in the
tent turn their heads, dozens of large glossy black eyes rest on him.
He frowns and
the heads turn back, birds frozen and eyes fixed. Sage puts her hand over her
mouth to muffle a gasp.
“You changed
them,” she says, sounding unsure, as if she wonders if what she just saw was
real or not.
“It was not hard
to do. You do not know how to stop me.” He pauses and eyes her, his expression
inscrutable.
“Have you always
been able to manipulate?” He asks.
Sage thinks for
a moment, to the first instance she can remember something strange happening. It
was in the orphanage, before the Beaulieus, when Sage had lost her temper with her literature instructure. Tired and hungry, she did not have the best control of herself,
and one of the nearby windows had shattered. It may have been an accident - indeed to everyone else it passed for a frightening coincidence - had she not felt herself push on the window to break,
even without touching it.
She nods. “I
think so.”
Art by Rubis
Text by Lucie MacAulay
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