call me something, anything,
I used to say,
as though just having a name
was good, though it wasn’t
He might have been someone important, might have been loved by a mother, a father, embraced by family before he became the human body wrapped around the power of catastrophe and destruction. ____ didn’t feel anything about that, or about the seal between self and the world, or about the seal between that vessel and the world, where people moved in the distant light beyond this blue grey glass.
She hated that face. It wasn’t her own face.
Gray prepared herself each day without availing herself of a mirror. She could do up her hair without looking, clean even her face simply by feel, hide herself beneath a hood from shishou, from herself.
Her mother used to smile at her lovingly. The smiles had changed once she’d acquired this alien face. Everyone had been so happy—everyone but Gray.
“Ah, Gray.” He looked at her without looking at her, without wanting her to house someone else’s spirit, without wanting her to be anyone but Gray.