That is the rule of the Wilds: You must be bigger and stronger and tougher. You must hurt or be hurt.

The old Lena is dead.

How can someone have the power to shatter you to dust--and also to make you feel so whole?

And you should hear the music. Incredible, amazing music, like nothing you've ever heard, music that almost takes your head off, you know? That makes you want to scream and jump up and down and break stuff and cry.

The Wilds aren't safe anymore.

Everything looks stark and vivid and frozen, as though drawn precisely and outlined in ink - parents' smiles frozen, camera flashes blinding, mouths open and white teeth glinstening, dark glossy hair and deep blue sky and unrelenting light, everyone drowning in light - everything so clear and perfect I'm sure it must already be a memory, or a dream.

The Story of Solomon is the only way I know how to explain. And then, in smaller letters: Forgive me.