A few days after every SilkWing hatches, we would get branded with our parent's initials, along with our own. Everyone was raised in the web bridges, a shaky, unstable net that could easily collapse, as opposed to the solid ground that the HiveWings apparently are entitled to. Everybody can just be shipped somewhere, as if they are merely an object to be delivered to HiveWings' doorsteps rather than a living dragon with a soul. Every SilkWing has to bow to a Queen outside their own tribe. Every SilkWing is trapped inside a cruel tracking system, as if they are just little beetles to be kept as pets.

I have a feeling that those words are what every blood-sucking HiveWing was taught in their oh-so-precious books. After all, it's their fault I ended up this way. The HiveWings who branded me were probably just at one of Lady Jewel's parties. Why? Because after they already branded me in the wrong place — my shoulder, not my palm — They just so happened to "accidentally '' get me barreled into the flamesilk cauldron, which was searing hot and made of metal. This put me in the hospital for two months, permanently disabled my vision, AND gave me this nasty scar in the back of my head. And still the HiveWing reading teachers had the AUDACITY to call me incompetent, "why can't you just read as well as the other students, eh, midget?" when it was THEIR OWN STUPID TRIBE THAT DID THIS TO ME.

All right, fine. The accident happened six years ago, after all. I sit down at my fruit stand and wait for customers. There are some apples on my left, some beans and rice bowls in the middle, and some water sachets on the right. All one scale apiece. Ooh, someone's coming.

"Hello?" I ask, somewhat a statement. "Do you want to buy something?" What I hear next is… strange. "Oh, uh… you're selling? Okay. I guess I might afford a drink. How much for it?" I'm shaken. Doesn't it say on the sign my dad painted? "It's one scale… everything is one scale." The customer makes a weird noise. "All right," she says. She sounds like she's six, the same age as me. "This one feels nice. I want this one, please."

All right, now that's just weird. No HiveWing ever treats me that kindly. They're usually so mean to me. I know she's a HiveWing, by the way her wings buzz with curiosity, fear, and excitement. After a moment, someone older stands next to her. "She wants this one, thank you." The older HiveWing places the sachet in my talon. I'm super confused. "'Bye," I say, with accidentally violent scatterbrained-ness in my tone.

"Bye," She replies. I hear her talonsteps as she gingerly walks away. I focus on her sounds. The HiveWing's further away now, but I can still hear her.

"Are you sure nothing's there?"

"Khapra. It's seven in the morning. Nobody else is here, they're all asleep."

"Really? Why not?"

"There was a huge party last night," Khapra's companion says, distaste in his voice. "Didn't you see all of the… Oh. Right."

I squirm, realization hitting me like a brick.

"You, too," I whisper.

I stay up late at night. I touch my hammock to orient myself… There. I grab my silk countdown chain I'd made for the days until my twin sister and I have metamorphosis. I feel the links. One… Only one? I thought it was two. Huh.

"Lachia?"

"Yes?"

"You didn't cut this, did you?"

"Oh, yeah. I cut it this morning."

"Oh… Thanks."

"You're welcome." Lachia's voice is soft. "Did you get any dinner yet?"

"Yeah. I bought a pomegranate on the way here. What did you have?"

"Oh. Dad made some potatoes. They were good, you know. You should have had some."

My dad always makes the best roasted potatoes. Little potatoes the size of a claw and roasted with spices from the kitchen my dad works at in Jewel Hive. They always remind me of dinnertime and help me sleep better. Of course, I regret not being home in time to have dinner with our family. Even if my Mom's in the hospital with a coma, I still feel like she's here with us. Within minutes of laying on the silk hammock in darkness, I fall asleep.