Anisa, and misa, Izzy has taken her hands, is holding them, and when anissa focuses again, she feels as if they're submerged in water. And she wants to snatch them away because what if she hurts Izzy? But she is disoriented. And before she knows what she is doing, she is crying. While Izzy holds her hands and sinks down to The Rain wet floor with her. She feels gravel beneath her knees and grinds them further into it to punish herself for this. This thing, the power, and she is trying to make Izzy understand and she is trying to say she is sorry, but all that comes out is this violent wrecking weeping. It's me. She manages. I made her sick. It's my fault. I don't mean to do it, but I make bad things happen just by wanting them. Even a little. Wanting them the wrong way, and I don't want it anymore. I never wanted this, but it keeps happening and now she'll die. Is he looks at her? Squeezes her hands and says, calm and even. Bullshit. It's true. Avisa. If it's true, it should work both ways. Can you make good things happen? By wanting them? She looks into Izzy's warm, dark eyes, at a loss and can't frame a reply to such a ridiculous question. Think bad. What good things do you want to happen? I want she closes her eyes and bites her lip looking for pain to quash the power, but feels it differently. Feels with Izzy holding her hands? Is he facing her? Grounded? As if draining something out into the gravel and the earth beneath it and leaving something else in its wake. Something shining and slick as sunlight on wet streets. I want to do it to get better. I want her to have a good life to be whatever she wants to be and do whatever she wants to do. I want to learn Welsh. I want to Izzie's face shimmers through her tears. I want to be friends with you. I want she swallows them down. All of her good wants. How much she misses her father and how much she misses just talking in any language with her mother. And how she misses the light in Rhea. And the dry dusty air, the sheep, and the goats, and the warmth. Always of her grandmother and uncles and ants and cousins all around, and she makes an anthology of them. She gathers the