The scariest thing in the world is thinking someone you love is going to die.

No matter how much you consumed, you would not have your fill.

Whether or not you believe in Fate comes down to one thing: who do you blame when something goes wrong.

A girl who is thirteen-which is hard, and difficult, and beautiful, and painful, and exhilarating.

Imagine if you were the positive pole of a magnet, and you were told that under no circumstances were you allowed to touch that negative pole that was sucking you in like a black hole. Or if you crawled out of the desert and found a woman standing with a pitcher of ice water, but she held it out of your reach. Imagine jumping off a building, and then being told not to fall. That's what it feels like to want a drink.

My mother used to tell me that when push comes to shove, you always know who to turn to. That being a family isn't a social construct but an instinct.

Crazy girls did this, girls who walked like zombies through YA novels. But. Trixie felt the sting of the skin as it split, the sweet welling rise of blood. It hurt, though not as much as everything else idd.