Rejection Is A Cancer, Edie. It Eats

The Stretch Of Years Leaves None Unmarked: The Blissful Sense Of Youthful Invincibility Peels Away And Responsibility Brings Its Weight To Bear.

Cassandra Wondered At The Mind's Cruel Ability To Toss Up Flecks Of The Past. Why, As She Neared Her Life's End, Her Grandmother's Head Should Ring With The Voices Of People Long Since Gone. Was It Always This Way? Did Those With Passage Booked On Death's Silent Ship Always Scan The Dock For Faces Of The Long-departed?

The Prospect Of An Early Death Sits Differently Upon Each Person. In Some It Gifts Maturity Far Outweighing Their Age And Experience: Calm Acceptance Blossoms Into A Beautiful Nature And Soft Countenance. In Others, However, It Leads To The Formation Of A Tiny Ice Flint In Their Heart. Ice That, Though At Times Concealed, Never Properly Melts. Rose, Though She Would Have Liked To Be One Of The Former, Knew Herself Deep Down To Be One Of The Latter.

It Was The Sibling Thing, I Suppose. I Was Fascinated By The Intricate Tangle Of Love And Duty And Resentment That Tied Them Together. The Glances They Exchanged; The Complicated Balance Of Power Established Over Decades; The Games I Would Never Play With Rules I Would Never Fully Understand. And Perhaps That Was Key: They Were Such A Natural Group That They Made Me Feel Remarkably Singular By Comparison. To Watch Them Together Was To Know Strongly, Painfully, All That I'd Been Missing.

Better To Lose Oneself In Action Than To Wither In Despair.