Bast Avila had never liked Tash on celebration days.
Too many smiling faces, too much false laughter. It was like living inside a painting; pretty from afar, hollow from within. Today the city burst with an unbearable joy, an excess of color and sound that grated on her scales. Flowers drifted everywhere, their petals spinning gently in perpetual motion, perfuming the air until breathing felt thick and oppressive. The faint sweetness lingered on Bast's tongue, cloying and unwelcome.
She tightened her grip gently around Hampter's small hand. Her daughter skipped beside her, oblivious to the currents of unease beneath the city's glittering surface. Hampter's soft giggle rang out intermittently, the girl's mind trailing through paths only she could follow.
Bast glanced down, a fleeting warmth threading through her heart at the sight of her daughter's wide eyes gazing upward in wonder at the spinning blossoms.
