Each month, a theme was whispered through the network: Yearning. Regret. Avarice. Absolution. Members then submitted their deepest, most secret desire, not to fulfill it, but to have it witnessed. That was the covenant of The Lattice: You do not get what you want. You get to be known for wanting it.
She chose the latter.
"Yes," he replied. "But that's not what I wanted." private society desiree
"My desire," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "is to find my daughter. And tell her I never stopped wanting her."
I want to know who Desiree really is. Not the curator. The woman. I want to see her fail. Each month, a theme was whispered through the
Desiree had always believed in the power of the unseen. As the founder and silent curator of "The Lattice," a private society nestled in the amber-lit underbelly of a city that never slept, she didn't deal in stocks or real estate. She dealt in desire.
Desiree took the file, her hands trembling. The Lattice would continue—other desires would come, other burdens to witness. But for one private, impossible moment, a desire had not just been witnessed. Absolution
He set the photo down gently. "I've spent forty years acquiring things no one else can have. But I've never been known. Not really. I desired to see you fail because I wanted to know if you were human. If you could bleed like the rest of us."