Maya & Natasha

Being seventeen is an exercise in cruelty. Those unfortunate enough to be so know a little of the world, a little less of love, and less still of themselves, but not enough of any of these to avoid heartache.

She could never forget Natasha—how could your right hand forget your left?

It was one thing for your birth to cause your mother's death (weren't mothers always dying of childbirth in fairy tales?) and another for your mother to look at you, newly born, and choose death instead.