Before I can process what’s happening, Deirdre has opened her hands and Linden has taken the ring from her and slipped it onto my finger. “Rhine Ashby,” he says. “My wife.

Someday I'll tell you all of it," I say. "I'd like that," he says. "No," I say. "I promise you won't.

Childhood is a long, long road, from which that dark whispering forest of death seems an impossible destination.

And everywhere girls, tumbling from trees like orange blossoms and hitting the earth with sickening thuds. They crack open.

...maybe hope isn't such a bad thing. Maybe it's what keeps us together.

I think, in this strange world of beautiful things, there may be some humanity after all.

The seeds are tiny, unborn things, and I resent them. They'll be planted and they'll grow into exactly what they're meant to be.