She'd slept terribly the night before. The room, the bed, were both comfortable enough, but she'd been plagued with strange dreams, the sort that lingered upon waking but slithered away from memory as she tried to grasp them. Only the tendrils of discomfort remained.

That, my dear, is what makes a character interesting, their secrets.

Rejection is a cancer, Edie. It eats away at a person.

A true friend is a light in the dark. Viven

The world was an awfully large place and it wasn't easy to find a person who'd gone missing sixty years earlier, even if that person was oneself.

Adults weren’t supposed to understand their children and you were doing something wrong if they did.

In retrospect, it seems like everything in my life led to me becoming a writer. I just didn't realise it at the time.