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Chapters (64)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Contents
  6. Pronunciation Guide
  7. Prologue
  8. Part One
  9. One
  10. Two
  11. Three
  12. Four
  13. Five
  14. Six
  15. Seven
  16. Eight
  17. Nine
  18. Ten
  19. Eleven
  20. Twelve
  21. Thirteen
  22. Part Two
  23. Fourteen
  24. Fifteen
  25. Sixteen
  26. Seventeen
  27. Eighteen
  28. Nineteen
  29. Twenty
  30. Twenty-One
  31. Twenty-Two
  32. Twenty-Three
  33. Part Three
  34. Twenty-Four
  35. Twenty-Five
  36. Twenty-Six
  37. Twenty-Seven
  38. Twenty-Eight
  39. Twenty-Nine
  40. Thirty
  41. Thirty-One
  42. Thirty-Two
  43. Thirty-Three
  44. Thirty-Four
  45. Thirty-Five
  46. Part Four
  47. Thirty-Six
  48. Thirty-Seven
  49. Thirty-Eight
  50. Thirty-Nine
  51. Forty
  52. Forty-One
  53. Forty-Two
  54. Forty-Three
  55. Forty-Four
  56. Forty-Five
  57. Forty-Six
  58. Forty-Seven
  59. Epilogue
  60. Excerpt from The Sun and Its Shade
  61. The Night and Its Moon Playlist
  62. Acknowledgments
  63. About the Author
  64. Back Cover

Millicent had been a child when she’d learned of the powers of love and death and the line that severed them. Her arm had been deformed and discolored from the moment she came from the womb, but her parents had loved her all the same. The left arm did not stretch or reach or grasp as did the fat, happy hand on her right. It was not the hand itself but the claws that tipped her nails in shiny, black talons that had her parents hide her mutation away.

She had inherited her golden hair from her mother and the tight ringlets from her father. They were a simple family of kind, beautiful people. Her mother had sewn her a sling in her infancy, as her mother had sewn all things in their home, from her dresses and skirts to the curtains and pillows. It kept prying eyes from ogling their otherwise healthy, happy baby, wanting her to live a normal, judgment-free life. No one needed to see the bizarre coloration, nor the dark, hooked barbs that protruded from where healthy fingernails should have been.

Millie, they’d called her. Merry little Millie, with her tenacity, her willingness of spirit, her dauntlessness in the face of adversity, was the apple of her parents’ eye.

Her father had played and laughed and taught her all the things a girl must know. He brought her to his bakery on many days to learn about flours and breads and pastries. She knew how long they needed to rest and rise and how thin to make the laminated, buttery layers of delicate desserts. She was exceedingly capable with her right hand, managing everything any other child of her age could do with two. All of her clothes were lovingly tailored to keep her left arm snuggly inside of her shirt, resting against her.

If Millie wasn’t following her father to the bakery before the four o’clock morning bell, she was staying home to learn stitchwork from her mother. Their home had been happy and their life had been full.

It had been her mother who had decided that she should begin to exercise her left arm. The woman was wary of the talons her daughter possessed, avoiding them completely as she taught Millie to stretch and grab and hold.

Millie was given small, light objects to grasp, nothing more than quills or spools of yarn. Then she was given tasks, like to pick up the knitting needles or embroidery hoops from where they rested and carry them to where her mother sat. Her parents allowed the growing girl extraordinary independence as she began to master her arm and its movements, watching it heal and come into its shape much faster than anyone could have expected. If she left the house, she was to do so with the use of her sling. Inside the protective walls of their cottage, she could continue to practice her exercises.