She shook her fist at Harpy and she cried, “Come closer! I would have your name!”
Then the wind came down and slammed her hard and she grasped at the air but there was only air to grasp, and she flew from the edge [...] and Harpy stooped and her claws came close and Martina thought:
I am saved.
But Harpy said only: “I am that which is not Hope.”
Martina struck, and shattered, and bled.
- The Far Roofs, Jenna K. Moran
