I am the girl who found the bones in the snow next to the blue, cracked pieces of shell. I am the girl who cupped those bones in red mittens next to the nest at the base of the pine. Bones fragile as thought. Bones clean, as quiet as the snow they laid on. You can place your secrets into the hollow spaces (honeycomb caves) of a fetal bird's tibia. Then your secrets live inside the death of flight.
Virginia M. Mohlere was born on one solstice, and her sister was born on the other. She writes from the Gulf Coast at a desk that will never be tidy and will not be allowed to buy any new ink for approximately 90 years. Her work has been seen in Cabinet des Fées, Jabberwocky, Lakeside Circus, Goblin Fruit, Strange Horizons, and Mythic Delirium.