A poem doesn’t come out and tell you what it has to say. It circles back on itself, eating its own tail and making you guess what it means.

A girl can have the face of an angel but have a horrid sort of heart.

Should I ever again sink into illness, I'm sure I'll remember Eldric. I'll remember he cared for me. I'll remember that someone had at least taken the time to touch my face.

Perhaps you should put your head down.” I knew this was the thing to do, although I’ve never fainted and I don’t intend to.

I might be a wicked girl who'd think nothing of eating a baby for breakfast, but I'd never allow myself to get expelled. It's far too public.

Did I kill him?” I said. “No, miss,” said Robert. “Pity.

Our English monarchs are so unimaginative,” said Eldric. “They execute people in such tediously conventional ways.