So I need the story, Jenna. I need the truth. Right, like the two are the same thing.

I am a ghost in a land of phantoms and forgotten nightmares.

The familiar was usually invisible; how many people really noticed everything they saw?

This is a fairy tale with teeth and claws.

Why can't you like me?" he said, his voice breaking. His scent steamed then, hot and heady with a welter of contradictions: apples and fire and electric roil of those cold, black shadows. "Why can't you like me just a little?" She would never know how she might have answered, because he never gave her the chance. Instead, he kissed her.

My English teacher said that a writer is the worst judge of his own work.

Sometimes you don't know what you need until it's gone