Etisha was an ordinary woman, with brown skin and a thick mane of curls, pitch dark. Her lips, crimson, matched perfectly with her red and black sari. There were only two things not ordinary about her: She had deep blue eyes that flashed pale, and she spoke to beasts.

For twenty-four years, she’d been the focus of superstitious gossip, so she'd kept to herself mostly. Animals were her only friends; no human dared to come near her. 

Then on Etisha’s twenty-fifth birthday, she’d disappeared.

Weeks dwindled into months, months into years. But no one ever heard from her again, not even the slightest whisper. 

The tribe concluded that it was a mercy from the gods that Etisha left their lives.

And thus, they carried on as usual. Hunting. Cooking. Sewing. 

Until one day, things changed. Permanently. 

Swarms of shadow-beasts infested our territory, slaughtering everyone in sight, reducing huts to rubble. 

At the eye of those storming beasts—Etisha, her eyes silver and bright.

“Feba.” She used my name like a command, a dozen other distinct voices coming out of her and thundering in my ears. 

She spoke again, more urgently this time. “Feba.”

The dream vanished and I woke up to Mother tapping on my shoulder. My eyes clenched against the radiant streams of sunlight pouring into my room. I slung an arm over my face, groaning. I didn’t want to get up—didn't want to see the empty bed beside me. If I had the choice, I would’ve slept for an eternity; I'd been dealing with more than enough of Mother’s feigned smiles and affections ever since Sang’s cremation. She breezed through life as if she’d never played part in her own son’s demise. Unless, of course, she treated the situation similarly to Etisha’s, and simply pushed the memory of Sang aside, believing it was but the mercy and doing of the gods that made exposing and taking Sang out of everyone’s life so easy. The thought made my stomach twist.

“It’s time to get up,” said Mother. “Eat before your breakfast gets cold.” 

I bit back a grimace. Yet another addition to the list of things I didn’t want to do. Eat. Just the thought of food served only to twist my guts into further knots. 

Thankfully, Mother didn’t pester me long. She finished off with, "now dress up, it’s going to be a chilly one today,” and disappeared around the corner.

I exhaled, my gaze fixed to my ecru ceiling. I couldn’t decide which was worse; this or sharing a house with the person who would’ve discarded me just as easily had it been my eyes that were silver. 

It wasn’t fair—Did Sang have time to understand what was happening, or did death come quickly?

Tears threatened my vision. But I couldn’t let Mother see me mourn for the boy she’d been so willing to cut from her life. I choked them back. 

Pushing blankets, I stood to dress myself. I decided on a faded black sari with white lily print—draped over with a khasto—before setting my into a loose bun. 

Then, picking the tiny mirror off my nightstand, I glanced my reflection; my eyes were bleak and heavy from the insufficient sleep I’d gotten in a week’s span. 

Deep blue, they were only a shade lighter than what my brother’s had been. But in the coming months leading to his death, his irises had faded into something much grayer, even paler. He didn’t seem to notice that I’d noticed, and he’d kept it to himself. But he came back after more than a dozen hunts empty handed. 

I had to say something. 

“Keep this between us,” he’d told me. He didn’t want anyone else to know that he was growing blind. If the tribe knew, they'd forbid him from hunting, he’d never be allowed to enter the forest again. While part of me understood it was only the tribe’s way of protecting their people, I understood also just how much Sang cherished hunting, how awful he’d feel if it were to be taken from him. 

So I didn’t say anything. If I had, would’ve he lived to see another day?

My eyes stung again. I tore my gaze from the mirror.

Slowly, I drew in a long, fortifying breath, and waited until the risk of tears was no longer before I made my way toward the kitchen.