NIX AND ALBA by LEILA MURTON POOLE
My name is Nix and I bleed white. Sticky
sweetness bursts from my flesh as I’m torn apart. My twin sister, Alba, tastes bitter. Still delicious, we’ve heard, but sharper; you wince before you smile. We’re grown by our Queen and keeper, who stamps us with her mark—a crown branded on our skins. A reminder that we belong to her, no matter whose mouth we end up in. After all, we were once her daughters. The Queen liked us when we were small enough to be controlled with dainty dresses and plaited hair. But the older we grew, the less we fit into her perfect Princess-shaped molds. We stole kiss
