The Girl of Ink and Stars

Each of us carries the map of our lives on our skin, in the way we walk, even in the way we grow.

India is a place where colour is doubly bright. Pinks that scald your eyes, blues you could drown in.

They say the day the Governor arrived, the ravens did too.

The threads of problems dangled in front of me, and I tried to think of a way to weave them into a solution. I

leaves were like lace, criss-crossing blackly over tangles of dead branches. I

overgrown fields, obviously abandoned. We must be getting close to the next village, which was just as well. The sun was approaching the horizon, and the constant battle with the wind was exhausting for us as well as the horses. Fierce