Author:
M.J. Swenson has been writing stories since elementary school and earned a B.A. in Creative Writing from the University of St. Thomas, Minnesota. Besides writing and reading, M.J. also enjoys playing music and video games.

The wind ruffled the red and orange leaves of the half-wire trees, and strangers walked on either side of Lysandra, keeping their heads down, never once casting a glance at her. A perfect day for masquerading. If only every day could be as perfect as this one.

Lysandra’s skirts swished around her ankles, and she held them up just slightly with her hands as she ran. She parted the crowds on the street with hardly a motion, and no one even looked up to wonder why she ran when they didn’t. The wind rushed through her long auburn hair, catching it on the breeze just as it caught those leaves on the trees around her, real or not.

The wind did not rush through her hair when she sat in the window back at her father’s house—the screen blocked it. And her father’s servants seemed to think it was unbecoming of her to stare dreamily out the window in the first place.

Rewriting Memory

Cale walked ahead of Lysandra for a while, staying a few steps in front of her even when she tried to keep pace with him. He didn't stop to cast even a glance at her until they had emerged onto the main roads.


At the edge of the street just a few blocks away from Zavier Thwaite's studio, Cale pulled her aside so sharply that she gasped.


"Do you even understand the weight of what you suggested to him?" he snapped.


"W-what do you mean?" Lysandra stammered. His eyes drilled into her, so intense that she felt like she could shatter at any moment.


"You told him that someone might have performed Memory Theft on you," Cale said. "Or did you already forget?"


Lysandra's eyes widened, and she took a step back. "Oh Angels, no. I didn't forget. I swear I didn't forget."


Something in Cale's eyes softened. He sighed. "No," he said. "Of course you didn't. I'm sorry."


Chapter 18