The Poppy War

“So that’s what it takes,” he said.

She felt drained, as if the fire had burned up something inside her. She couldn’t even feel anger. She could barely stand.

“Fuck you,” she said. “Fuck you.”

“Get to your post, soldier,” said Altan.

“So that’s what it takes,” he said.

She felt drained, as if the fire had burned up something inside her. She couldn’t even feel anger. She could barely stand.

“Fuck you,” she said. “Fuck you.”

“Get to your post, soldier,” said Altan.

“So that’s what it takes,” he said.

She felt drained, as if the fire had burned up something inside her. She couldn’t even feel anger. She could barely stand.

“Fuck you,” she said. “Fuck you.”

“Get to your post, soldier,” said Altan.

“So that’s what it takes,” he said.

She felt drained, as if the fire had burned up something inside her. She couldn’t even feel anger. She could barely stand.

“Fuck you,” she said. “Fuck you.”

“Get to your post, soldier,” said Altan.

He was so beautiful then, standing right in the space of the road where a beam of moonlight fell across his face, illuminating one side and casting long shadows on the other.

He looked like glazed porcelain, preserved glass. He was a sculptor’s approximation of a person, not human himself. He can’t be real, she thought. A boy made of flesh and bone could not be so painfully lovely, so free of any blemish or flaw.

I thrashed you at school. I’m frank about my combat abilities,”

“You are obnoxiously overconfident in your combat abilities,”

“I was scared of you,” Nezha continued. “And I lashed out. I was stupid. I was a spoiled brat. I was a real pain in the ass. I thought I was better than you, and I’m not. I’m sorry.”

“But I saved your life. Doesn’t that make us at least a little square?”

Tearza has the blood of Speer on her hands. Tearza deserved what she got.