Chloe Gong

She wished she could press mounds of rich soil into the gaps of her heart, occupying the space until flowers could take root and grow roses.

The stars incline us, they do not bind us.

She had surpassed anger and rage, moved into numbness instead. She had been stoking the fire in her chest for so long that she had not noticed how intently she had been burning, but now the blaze was extinguished, and she found that nothing remained there except a charred space, hollow where her heart was supposed to be.

Will you keep fighting, or will you crumble?”

I was raised in hatred, Roma.

“An eye for an eye,”

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

Which, as they kiss, consume.

—Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Once, Roma would have been able to see right through her. But four years had gone by now. He had changed. So had she.

Then the sight of the Scarlet heiress washed over him like a bucket of ice. Roma’s lips parted with a small puff of air.

The last time he’d seen her, they had been fifteen.

“Juliette,” he exclaimed automatically, but they were no longer familiar enough to use each other’s first names. They hadn’t been for a long while.

She should have thrown him to the Scarlets, let them deal with him.

No, she decided. He is mine to deal with. He is mine to destroy.