Status Updates From Salt Houses

“I’m making a wish.” Her voice is small. “You forgot to make one earlier? “What did we pile that cake with candles for?” “In the old days, people used to do this,” Riham says, turning back toward the window. Outside the moon is a crescent, slender as a fingernail in the sky. “I read about it. They’d make their wishes by the moonlight. They believed that smoke carried the wish all the way up.” ~Riham's ninth birthday.

this is gorgeously written so far