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approval.
    “Your eyes are blue,” she says.

Chapter Three
    January 11th, Morning
    I sleep without fear for the first time since childhood. All it takes is pain to remove the thing embedded so deeply that it breathes on its own, without my permission. I ball up my fist and cringe when I feel the small wound that resides on my palm. I heal quicker than a human, but without use of my magic I know it will be days before I heal completely. I welcome the challenge.
    My eyes pop open, adjust to the dark, and take in my surroundings. Lana is sitting on a bench by the large front window. Her head is propped on her hands, her bow on the windowsill in front of her. She has slept at the window all night, I am sure of it. When she hears me stir she turns her head to look at me, silent thought etched on her features.
    “You were there all night?” I ask. My attempt at making the bed is futile as there is one worn blanket and nothing else. I feel a twinge of something when I think of my bed back at home. My home. I miss it. I miss her. Anger.
    “No, why would I do that?” She turns back to the window, but I sense she is lying.
    “Because you are afraid of the creatures,” I tell her, sure she is just as afraid of them as I am. I make a fist to repress my anger.
    “The savages? I could kill those buffoons in my sleep. The truth of the matter is I’m afraid of what he’ll do to you…and me, when he gets back.” Something she says strikes me as odd.
    “You said he . You mean she . There are no male darklings.” Lana spins around on the bench to face me. She looks worn and weary.
    “Oh, I definitely meant he .” She smiles oddly and it confuses me further. If male darklings actually exist, it goes against everything I have learned in my studies of dark witches. To purify the bloodline, the witches with their nasty guard of savages kill all the half-human males at birth. The witches keep track of everything—they have complete control over this world.
    “There is one that was not killed? How is that possible? To cleanse the bloodline, only half human females are permitted to live to see their fate.” I quote from my studies. It was only yesterday that I realized how exactly they planned on cleansing the bloodline. Lana rubs the sleep from her eyes and rummages through a cabinet. I hope she is finding food for us.
    As she shuffles containers about she says, “Finn isn’t the only male who lives, oh, sheltered one.” She coughs to cover a laugh and resumes shaking packages and sniffing bags. “In the other circles there are more males. Here, it’s only Finn.”
    I am irritated when I see her close the cabinet empty handed. “One male and all these females?” I saw at least thirty the night before.
    “It’s not at all what you’re thinking. He gathers and trades for us at other circles every once in a while, but there is a decree prohibiting him from…how should I phrase it? Doing anything that might chance procreating. Your mother made a deal to spare your life and Finn made his own deal to spare his.” She shoots me a smug smile before lacing up her boots and signaling for me to follow her.
    I am intrigued about the idea of a male darkling, but suddenly uneasy about the mention of my mother’s sacrifice.
    “We’re headed to the lagoon. You reek, darkling.” I sniff my long sleeved tee and wrinkle my nose. It has blood, sweat, and ash from nothingness coating it, as do my pants. A bath is a good idea. “Remember, no funny business unless you want a repeat slicing,” Lana says as she mimics a knife dragging across her palm. She leads me out the door.
    All the little houses are quiet and black. There are no breezes, season changes, or inclement weather on earth. My mother used to speak of rain, tornados, and other fantastic variances in nature, but I wonder if they too were lies to occupy a young mind—something for me to grasp onto in the absence of feeling. I do not need her stories any longer. Just being