The trauma said, “Don’t write these poems.
Nobody wants to hear you cry
about the grief inside your bones.”
Claire Novak spends years searching for something to match the feeling of flying uncontrollably past the stars, the sensation of a supernova exploding in her belly. No vice or virtue in the world can compare to the unsettling wondrous sights of nebulas being birthed behind her eyelids or the sighs of constellations on her breath.
An angel gave her the universe and snatched it away. She’s been chasing the rush for seven years and has finally caught up to her comet.
My name is Claire Novak. Five years ago, my father agreed to become an angel's vessel again when he had a chance to escape. He did it to save my life. He never came home. So this is for you, Daddy. Don't worry, I'll find them all. 'Cause when you've had an angel's grace inside you, it's not hard to track all those sons of bitches down. My name is Claire Novak, and I remember everything.
