Jacob Sargent

Beware the Clockwork Witch

I hold my sister’s heart in my hands. Each time it ticks, blood drips out of the scorched and twisted gears and the severed tubes that used to be her arteries. Her body is rigid, engulfed by the flames spewing from the long-barreled guns of the Watchers. As they open their silver cloaks, the spiders stream out, each one the size of my fist, sleek and steel. I will not be able to fix her this time. They will tear her apart, incinerate the pieces, and throw what they can’t burn into the Swamp. This can’t be happening. We kept her secret for years. And now the words I’ve come to despise are shouted in triumph by my sister’s murderers.