I wonder if she has figured out that I'll never love Linden, especially not in the way she does, and that he'll never love anyone the way he loves her. I wonder if she realizes, despite all her efforts to train me, that I can never take her place.

It was my fifth grade teacher who introduced the idea that writing could be more than a hobby for me.

There is warmth shooting through my broken body where there should be pain, and I put my arms around the back of his neck and I hold on to him. I hold on because you never know in this place when something good will be taken away.

Hope, that risky, illustrious thing. It should have gone extinct by now, but we keep it alive.

Real’ is a dirty word in this place.

Times like this, when she slips her hand into mine and holds on tight, and our husband becomes just a shadow in the doorway.

My worries always lead to dungeons; I can't imagine a worse thing than to be imprisoned for the rest of one's life, especially with so few years to enjoy what little there is.