An Excerpt

"She knew the world, and thought about the world, and the world hurt her. Small things often stirred the demons, whose faces she hid close to her chest like poker cards. The smell of lavender made her cry. And when she cried it was like someone splashing through puddles: rain pouring from deep brown eyes, down cheeks freckled like mud. In the most twisted way she still looked happy, and in the most twisted way she was. "