“Are you sure you’re ready to tell her?” twelve-year-old Itzel Bartley asked, her eyebrows furrowed.
Damaris Bartley—born Azrael Agnolla, actually—bit her bottom lip. “Not too sure, but I think I should tell her now.”
In the middle of the sisters’ conversation, their six-year-old cousin, Ava Jones, interrupted their privacy and entered their room, and jumped on their bed.
Azrael groaned. “Ava, stop jumping on my bed!”
Ava pouted. “But I like it here! Your bed is really bouncy!”
“Itzel and I are talking about something important, so just give us a moment.”
Ava leaped down the bed and went out.
“So, I was saying, Damaris…” Itzel hesitated on saying Damaris, but she continued. “I mean, Azrael, you know that mom’ll be surprised.”
Azrael clenched her hands. “I know. And Azrael is a name that suits me, but I feel uncomfortable changing anything about myself.”
Itzel gave her a light smile. She hugged her for a moment and said, “I think you should tell her, though. This...