Restless and shifting, showing only one brave face, Lupe watched the moon. She scratched an itch behind her left horn, tangling her thick, black hair. Twitchy muscles under leggings. The plate armor scratched against the tower stones, abrasive. She wanted to be in silk; all she had was metal and mesh. She wanted to throw light and warmth; she could only crunch and pound. The hardened tapestry of her path, and the needle’s line of stitches sewed her destiny in place. She longed to rip out the seam and be something else, if one night. Have him see another side.