Von Loewe really should know me well enough by now to realize that I am not going to face my execution without a fight. Or with anything remotely resembling dignity.

Please come back soon. The window is always open.

It never occurred to him that now he was looking at his master, at the one person in all the world who held his fate right between her palms - me, in patched hand-me-downs and untrimmed hair and idiot smile - and that my hatred for him is pure and black and unforgiving. And that I don't believe in God, but if I did, if I did, it would be the God of Moses, angry and demanding and OUT FOR REVENGE.

I sometimes think young people are not given nearly enough credit for their ability to appreciate literary flourish.

But I have told the truth. Isn't that ironic? They sent me because I am so good at telling lies. But I have told the truth.

Von Loewe really should know me well enough by now to realize that I am not going to face my execution without a fight. Or with anything remotely resembling dignity.

A part of me will always be unflyable, stuck in the climb.