The jilted woman carved open a cavity in her chest and reached inside, her fingers spidering along over the web of strings. Bemused, she plucked them.

Adagio.

Lamentoso.

The music filled the air, played at a pitch no one could hear, but resonating at the frequency of heartstrings everywhere—spreading misery.

Tim Boiteau is a Writers of the Future winner currently based in Michigan. Find him at @timboiteau.