Thinking of nothing. Trying to think of nothing. Thinking of everything.
. . . companions were to be valued, wherever one found them.
She was the sort of person for whom fear was the natural response to that beyond explanation.
A twinge at the edge of her lips and she continued, the soft, slow lilt of recitation: "Ancient walls that sing the distant hours.
...which fairy-tale princess ever chose her maid over her prince?
Rejection is a cancer, Edie. It eats away at a person.