writeandpublish-book

Nyashia knew her people in Osrayan as the way they were – every shade of brown in between, gleaming copper figures that breathed and loved with warm, beating hearts and hopeful song. Their heads were dense with loose black curls, or braided into rows, or shaved or wrapped with colorful cloths. To Nyashia, Osrayan was beautiful because of its people, like the magic that made Nyashia yielded with her scepter, like the tattoos on her back, an intricate mass of ink and hieroglyphs.