Slowly, without taking his eyes from hers, the man in the black coat knelt before her. โI have come for the girl in the window,โ he said, and his eyes filled with tears
Catherynne M. ValenteChyertiโthatโs us, demons and devils, small and bigโare compulsive. We obsess. Itโs our nature. We turn on a track, around and around; we march in step; we act out the same tales, over and over, the same sets of motions, while time piles up like yarn under a wheel. We like patterns. Theyโre comforting. Sometimes little things changeโa car instead of a house, a girl not named Yelena. But itโs no different, not really. Not ever.
Catherynne M. Valenteโฆeverything has a narrative, really, and if you canโt understand a story and relate to it, figure out how you fit inside it, youโre not really alive at all.
Catherynne M. ValenteMost of them... most of us never figure it out. Bad dream, they think, or good one. Funny rash, never really goes away, but Doc says it's fine, nothing to worry about. Why dwell on it? But some people, they just can't let it go... Some people drink themselves out of school trying to find it again, trolling through bars where the shadows are so greasy they leave trails on the walls, just to find a way in, a way through. Some people forget too that you're supposed to stop sleeping, you're supposed to have a life in the sun.
Catherynne M. Valente