We leave Pippa behind, standing in the dark, teeming bowels of the camp, while the sun begins to stain the sky electric, and from all sides the guns draw closer.

And a face above mine, white and beautiful, eyes as large as the moon. You saved me. A hand on my cheek, cool and dry. Why did you save me? Words welling up on a tide: No, the opposite. Eyes the colour of a dawn sky, a crown of blond hair, so bright and white and blinding I could swear it was a halo.

Until, one day, she wasn’t.

I guess there are some things you never get used to.

You don't reach points in life at which everything is sorted out for us. I believe in endings that should suggest our stories always continue.

What glitters may not be gold; and even wolves may smile; and fools will be led by promises to their deaths.

The memories seem like snapshots from someone else’s life.