"I wish," she whispered, "that I were as brave and as bright as you, that I could go to such a place, and meet such folk, and know about such things."
Sigrid frowned, her curly hair flattened against her broad forehead by the damp, like a monk’s tonsure. “That’s funny, you know. I spent most of my time in Al-a-Nur wishing I were as brave and bright as Saint Sigrid. We all have someone we think shines so much more than we do that we are not even a moon to her sun, but a dead little rock floating in space next to their gold and their blaze."
The Orphan’s Tales: In The Night Garden by Catherynne M. Valente