I imagine the ones we’ve lost as ghosts who prowl about the edges of the light, waiting for us to join them. Sometimes that’s terrifying, and sometimes it’s reassuring, a promise of homecoming.

It's only a sure defeat when you stop trying.

She carries chaos like an overcoat.

In the enclave, the strong and the physically perfect survived, but if you were strong, you protected the weak until they had an opportunity to grow into their own power.

Once exposed, a secret loses all its power.

Sometimes broken things heal crooked. The pieces didn’t fit anymore.

I don’t like anyone knowing anything about me that I didn’t choose to tell them.