Sue Lynn Tan

“Some scars are carved into our bones—a part of who we are, shaping what we become.” Seeing my crestfallen expression, she cradled me in her soft arms. “But she is stronger than you think, Little Star. Just as you are.”

“Don’t tell anyone who you are. But never forget either.”

As I followed Ping’er toward the cloud which would carry us away, pain struck my heart so sharp and clear—it fractured—only kept whole by a slender thread of hope.

In my childhood, I had been terrified of the vicious monsters I read about in my books. Yet I was learning that as much to be feared was a scythe-like smile and words that cut deep.

No, they would not shame me. I would not pander or flatter to gain their friendship. I would rather be alone than have friends as these. And though I felt lesser than an insect in this moment, I raised my chin to meet their stares.

Did she expect me to slink aside and fade into the shadows? I was glad to have disappointed her. They had wounded me, but they would not have the satisfaction of knowing it. Their unkindness only had as much power as I gave it, and I would wrench back my tattered pride from beneath the soles of their feet because . . . it was all I had left.

Yet more than the discomfort, it was the indignity which stung.

“Everyone has their own troubles; some lay them bare while others hide them better. For myself, I do what I can to stretch the boundaries which chafe, even if it’s just a little each time. Who knows when the slightest shift might make a difference?”

Oh, my situation was still dire but my
spirit, while bruised, was unbroken.

“Your Highness, it would be an honor to be in your company, but that is not why I want this—”

He tapped his chin, his lips twitching. “You don’t want to be in my company?”

“No, Your Highness. I mean, yes! Yes, I do want to be in your company,” I stammered.