Swiftcurrent Creek [m] Ain't a DJ gonna save my soul

Mae lifted her head at the sound of Arric's approaching footsteps, aware that it was him by his gait and his scent. In some ways the loss of vision had taken less from her than she'd expected. In other ways it had taken so much more.

She could still picture her uncle's face, at least. His smile, the blue of his eyes. How long before that memory faded?

She laid her head back against the ground, listening quietly as he spoke — and there it was again, the guilt. Anger flashed through her, first at herself and then at him, at her father, at Arlette, all of them. If she was being so irrational — so stupid and defective, then weren't they just as stupid for caring?

The anger faded just as quickly. This criticism was all her own, she knew, though some part of her suspected that they must be thinking it. Maybe it was the truth. Sure, Mae answered finally, voice low and weary.

After a moment, she began again.

Y'know what he said to me? The fucker at the marsh, Mae took in a slow breath. Said women should learn to be seen and not heard. I wanted to kill him.