Sometimes a tarnished life was worse than a swift death.

There were tears in his eyes. The ocean rose inside him, and I looked away, before it got me, too.

I’m sorry. For all of us. Sorry for all the little ways the people who were supposed to love us most could hurt us so deeply, despite their shared heritage and blood, as thought their knowledge of our pasts gave them unlimited access to all the most tender places, the old wounds that could be so easily reopened with no more than a glance, a comment, a passing reminder of all the ways in which we failed to live up to their expectations.

Read them, Anna. Really read them.

When you’re in the middle of being in love with someone, you just don’t stop to ask.

Right here, right now, for the first time since I’d lost my voice, I let it all go.

It was just over a year ago. Twelve months, nine days and six hours ago, actually. But thirteen months ago everything was... perfect.

All the people who’d brought me here, past and present, ancient and young, legend and life and lore, I channeled. I welcomed them into my infinite heart, alongside the ghosts, the shadows, the ache I’d always carry. I made their strength mine, a part of me. My inspiration. My voice.

But there’s something about Watonka, they say. Something that pulls us back, the electromagnet that holds all the metal in place.

They key to a great party is the music,” Sam says, scrolling through his iPod as we tramp through the sand. Eddie – the guy having the party – put Sam in charge of the playlist. “If it’s too intense, no one will be able to hang out and talk. But if it’s too mellow, it will turn into a snoozefest. You also have to consider timing. There’s a particular kind of music appropriate for each stage of the party – intro, warm-up, full swing, wind-down, and outro.