Lift your hips for me, love.

Warner. A white bird with streaks of gold like a crown atop its head. A fair - skinned boy with gold hair, the leader of Sector 45. It was always him. All along . The link.

Alice jumped from flagstone to flagstone, her face caught in the rainlight glow, her hand grasping for a touch of gold. The towns excitement was contagious, and the air was so thick with promise Alice could almost bite into it.

we write every day, we fight every day, we think and scheme and dream a little dream every day. manuscripts pile up in the kitchen sink, run-on sentences dangle around our necks. we plant purple prose in our gardens and snip the adverbs only to thread them in our hair. we write with no guarantees, no certainties, no promises of what might come and we do it anyway. this is who we are.

Why are you in my room?___ecause I can be.___ou shouldn__ be.___ave it, Rochester. You broke my nose.___oes it hurt?__e lifted a hand toward his face and dropped it. __ou could say that.___ood.__e nudged a tray on the floor with his boot. It had oatmeal, toast, and orange juice on it. __ungry?__onor__ stomach growled. __o.__yder__ lips turned up in a fleeting sadistic smile. He kicked the tray across the room. It hit the wall and overturned. __ood.

To know of the existence of evil, true evil that corrupted the world, had forever altered her heart and mind. If she had chosen a different path, she wouldn't have slept another night. Her head would have been restless as she thought only of the horrors that might be creeping outside her door, waiting to rend her flesh. She would not live a life as the hunted; she would be the hunter.