Suima Princess -

"I will sit on your throne," she said. "But you will not eat my future. You will eat my stories. Every day, I will tell you one thing I remember—a taste, a touch, a name. And in exchange, you will tell me one thing you remember of what you were, before you were only hunger."

Suima uncorked the black mead and poured it over the throne. The liquid did not splash. It rose , coiling into threads of shadow and gold, and she began to weave. Her mother’s hair leash became the warp. The mead-threads became the weft. And she wove a story. suima princess

She smashed the obsidian mirror at the foot of the throne. In the shards, the hunger saw itself reflected for the first time. It had no form, but the mirror gave it one: a gaping maw with too many teeth, and behind the teeth, an infinite loneliness. "I will sit on your throne," she said

A voice spoke inside her skull. Not words. A sensation of emptiness so profound that her memories began to flicker like candles in a gale. She saw her mother’s face—then forgot her nose. She heard her own name—then forgot the sound. Every day, I will tell you one thing