He says one word, nodding into the daylight. "Look." It's an astounding word. It's a gift.

We were his disposable things. Brought to him like cattle. Stripped of what made us sisters or daughters or children. There was nothing that he could take from us—our genes, our bones, our wombs—that would ever satisfy him. There was no other way that we would be free.

Tell freedom I said hello.' 'If I happen to see it, I will.

Fate,' I said, 'Is a theif.

Kettle thingies. Yum.

Love unrequited is violent. He loves you so much that he's turned it into hate.

Love is not enough to keep any of us alive.