You wanted to live," he says."You say that like it's a good thing. A virtue.""What is it really?"I think about this. "Selfish.""Wanting to live is selfish?""Yes.

That felt meaningful somehow, like the words on the pages ached for him to know their sorrow.

You have a history of starving yourself," he says gently.I lift my head. I meet his gaze. "I have a history that I don't like to talk about.

Because blood is blood, and every family has its own force.Its own flavor.Its own charm and strange.

She must have seen more of my charm than my strangeness tonight.