“Bullshit… all of it’s bullshit.”
My mother constantly thinks that I need to have other people jumping into my life to sort me out, when I don’t. She isn’t the one really having to deal with these powers… with these—emotions, that roll over me like a fucking hurricane when I least expect it. And though I tell her I’m fine, she knows I’m lying.
Fucking pixie instincts.
“It’s not like we have a choice in anything, Rory,” Faeryn proclaims from behind her latest book. Her nickname for me has stuck like glue since the time she was two. Though I’m slightly older than her, no one would ever know it. In truth, people who aren’t familiar with us have often mistaken us for sisters by the way we act and in some way, I suppose we are.
