That was the way illness appeared in a house, in the corners, in between floorboards, on the hooks in the closet, along with the sweaters and coats.

Every fairy tale had a bloody lining. Every one had teeth and claws.

Still anyone who trusts a serpent deserves its bite. The wise see a creature for what it is, not what it says it may be.

Others said May was best, that sweet green time when lilacs bloomed and gardens along Main Street were filled with sugary pink peonies and Dutch tulips.

I never even believed in happiness. I didn't think it existed. Now look at me. I'm ready to believe in just about anything.

I have crossed over to a place where I never thought I’d be. I am someone I would have never imagined. A secret. A dream. I am this, body and soul. Burn me. Drown me. Tell me lies. I will still be who I am.

That is the joy of reading fiction: when all is said and done, the novel belongs to the reader and his or her imagination.