I used to have only one name; it used to mean something.

On tiptoes the redhead wouldn't even reach my shoulders; she is clearly too young to be a bride. And the willowy girl is too forlorn. And I am too unwilling. Yet here we are.

Time was our very first king. We all live our lives to the aggressive ticking of the clock. We don't question that our lives are a grid of seconds; even our pulses oblige. No succeeding king can hope to hold this kind of power.

I start trying to stay unconscious. The problem with this is that no amount of willpower can change the reality.

There is warmth shooting through my broken body where there should be pain, and I put my arms around the back of his neck and I hold on to him. I hold on because you never know in this place when something good will be taken away.

He says one word, nodding into the daylight. "Look." It's an astounding word. It's a gift.

And everywhere girls, tumbling from trees like orange blossoms and hitting the earth with sickening thuds. They crack open.