Poor kid,' Jenna says, and rolls her eyes toward me for a moment. Then she returns to her book. 'She doesn't even understand what kind of place this is.

Ah, love. That’s what the world has lost. There’s no more love, only the illusion of it.

I stare at her collarbone that's framed with lace, the hollow of her throat, her shoulders that rise with each rise with the weight of her next breath. We're fragile things. Our bones show through our skin. What would any god want with us?

I start trying to stay unconscious. The problem with this is that no amount of willpower can change the reality.

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.

There's a world out there that nobody has bothered to promise her.

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