Moon, Cold

COLD MOON an original short story by Rachel Caine

Outside my window, the moon rides a tide of mist. It is the color of pearl, that moon, full and lustrous, nestled in the gauzy breath of the sea. That moon knows my name. Some days I woke to the sound of my mother screaming, but not that day. I stayed very still in my bed and listened to the chirping of birds in the world beyond the window.