I need you to be happy. I need one of us to be happy.

I survive at the edge of friends circles.

The moment she was cursed, I lost her. Once it wears off- soon- she will be embarrassed to remember things that she said, things she did, things like this. No matter how solid she feels in my arms, she is made of smoke.

It’s just that you go so crazy being alone like that. Sometimes he’d forget my water or food and I’d cry and cry and cry.” She stops talking and looks out the window. “I would try to tell myself stories to pass the time. Fairy tales. Parts of books. But they got used up.

I know how to be the witness to her grief. I don't know how to be this kind of villain.

Y en el mundo real, Santa no es justo. Los niños ricos reciben todo y los niños pobres reciben basura de segunda mano que sus padres consiguen a duras penas. Hasta sentarte en el regazo de Santa cuesta dinero.

Her tragedy, if she had one, was to be as normal and average as any child ever born.