5
Dryas
Tonight, like most nights, I dream of the last time I saw my brother Arsen alive.
Before I killed him.
The memory is so vivid, so very fresh. It’s been almost six months, but it could have just as easily been yesterday. I start the dream where I usually begin, my body remembering the rage I felt that day with deadly accuracy.
After all, no one has ever been able to get the best of me the way that Arsen has. It has always been that way.
In the cool spring air, I’m standing on a broad balcony, my shoulders tense as I square off with my brothers Arsen and Damen.
“Arsen,” Damen says to him, warning my brother against goading me any further. I’m enraged, livid from the barbs we’ve been trading.
I scoop up one of the pieces of broken glass on the floor, my face contorting with ra
