Molt-Prince Mol-Marrow

Mol-Marrow was groomed for the molt-throne of the Twelfth Petal, a smaller hive than the great courts and an old one. Every required molt happened on schedule. The shape that came out of the last one was not the shape the aestheticists had projected. Broader. Heavier. Wrong in its posture. The throne fit. The chorus could not place the body in the hierarchy it had imagined.

They ran the projections four times. The projections had been right. The molt had simply come out otherwise. The Petal could not crown a shape it had not sung for. A younger sibling was elevated. Mol-Marrow was given the Sloughed Carapace, an aristocrat's ship, and the outer-ring patrol. They took the ship. They did not stay on patrol. They have come to suspect the shape is the correct one, and that the chorus has been wrong about more than molt-charts.