“That’s the thing, girl. I didn’t think you were special, not at first. But I thought that if I could make you believe you were – if I convinced you and pushed you – then maybe you could do the work that I was too afraid to do. You, the perfect candidate: a blank in marked skin, a marked with blank blood. Who better to send a message of hope to Featherstone and to fight for their freedom? I told myself it was true. I didn’t lie – I just controlled some of the ways you found out your story. I told myself that for the sake of my family at home, it was OK – that this is what your dad would have wanted anyway. But it wasn’t my story to tell. I should never have pushed you the way I did. I made you go to Featherstone, when really, I knew the responsibility lay with me – it should have been me going back to help my people. I manipulated you and I knew I was doing it.”

Was it manipulation, I wonder? All I wanted was to please my teacher and become good at the job. It didn’t feel anything like coercion – it felt like I was special: finally, finally in the role I had yearned for and feeling like I was in a secret club. And then, knowing he trusted me – enough to let me in on his secrets and mine. Well, it just felt good.

“I let you take risks that should never have been yours to take. I was a coward – and I still am. But, girl, you did everyone proud. You’re the bravest person I know.”

The bars press against my brow like an iron headache, but still I don’t move. I could sleep here, I think. I could die here.

In my dream I walk hand in hand with Mel. Each step with her brings me strength. As we walk, she tells a story.

They say that gods do not sleep. For, if they did, the world would have to stop and wait until they woke. All these small moments that you rely on, the magic of breath and heartbeat – the things that must keep on and keep on lest you die, they are only possible because you have gods who do not slumber.

A god beneath a blanket, eyes closed and passive – well, that god could be crept up on; that god could be killed in their sleep. For sleep is a vulnerable state and one does not creep up on a god. A god must not die.

A princess may sleep. She may sleep for one hundred years if she so wishes. But while she sleeps she cannot play or charm or rule. No wonder sleep is a curse used by witches. While the princess sleeps the witch can play and charm and rule in their place.