Everyone was a rose but even more complex than a mere flower. Everyone was made up of infinitely layered petals. And everyone had something indescribably precious at the heart of their being. No one was shallow. Not really.

It was strange how the heart clung to hope even when there was no reasonable basis for it, Morgan found. And how life went on.

Always guarding one's real, precious self in a cocoon of tranquility within a thousand masks. Life itself had become a secret affair.

And she was terribly aware that she was alive. Not just living and breathing, but ...alive.

Tears never were worth the effort of crying them.

And he knew at that moment that love world never die, that it would never fade away altogether. The time might come when he would meet and marry someone else. He might even be reasonably happy. But there would always be a deep precious place in his heart that belonged to his first real love.

If you have always suspected your sister of an inclination to madness, it will be my pleasure to confirm your worst fears.