Once upon a time, there was a girl named Grace Brisbane. There was nothing particularly special about her, except that she was good with numbers, and very good at lying, and she made her home in between the pages of books. She loved all the wolves behind her house, but she love one of them most of all.

I have a certain avoidance of reality that makes fantasy an ideal choice for me.

You’re my change of skin / my summer-winter-fall / I spring to follow you / this loss is beautiful.

It's a hard thing to hold a civil conversation after recalling that one party has used a Taser on the other, so both of them finished the walk in silence.

She wasn't interested in telling other people's futures. She was interested in going out and finding her own.

Dying's a boring side effect.

Death smells like birthday cake.