My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie She woke up thinking, "I'm still here. I'm still here in this God forsaken cottage, in this God forsaken village, in the middle of God forsaken nowhere. I don't know why I am still alive, or moving forward. I don't know what the point of this entire expedition is anymore." And truth be told, she couldn't blame herself for those thoughts. With Mistress Kor gone and home being farther and farther away, everything the team had accomplished - or more significantly, hadn't accomplished - was becoming more and more vivid. They had avoided nasty confrontations with the Mischiefs, destroyed haphazardly constructed barracks, escaped being eaten by swamp monsters, climbed a mountain that had almost cost Barkelee's life, sailed a ship that had also almost cost Barkelee's life, fought off brutes that had cost Quinoni vision in her left eye, and been declared Chosen Ones by the Creeback people, just before Mistress Kor had been snatc

It was a cyclical kind of relationship. The kind in which bruises became tattoos, of spider webs specifically, branching out into brand new spindles of aggression and fear. The kind in which the color of the iris was not noted, but the ring of black surrounding it. The kind in which, if enough amber was imbibed, the flurry of fists would become blurred, and if it couldn't be remembered that someone was assaulted, well, did it really happen, then?