Wheeling Gull Isle I am the owner of nowhere land, queen of a castle that’s made of sand.

in this moment, the divide between the harborlings and the darklings had never felt greater. a rift within ava was born. 

her tear-welled gaze lost its softness, hardening over into something defensive and inscrutable. as dinah rose with a gesture and begun collecting the strewn remains of her bouquet, ava now kept her distance. the sharp edge of her shoulder was kept to dinah at all times, even as her sister took care to collect doubles. 

in her own pile,  ava amassed ragwort and dandelion; queen anne’s lace and wild chamomile; strands of milky wild pineapple weed paired with white trillium. it was an unruly and understated piece, having no chance of upstaging the artistic brilliance of dinah’s attentive foraging. when placed upon the ground, it practically appeared grey — ava eyed it sullenly as she waited for towhee’s verdict.