Every lineament of the girl’s wasted body is a testament to her inner turmoil. Willow can only imagine what kind of pain she must be in to destroy herself that way. She knows there’s something ironic in her compassion for the other girl, but she can’t help feeling that this utter mortification of the flesh is far worse than anything that she herself has done.

Well, sometimes I worry that my whole life will be based about what’s comfortable and easy. I’ll care too much about what makes me feel good to ever really reach for anything. And then I worry that even if I do, I won’t succeed.

You couldn’t really say that something that hurts so badly feels good exactly. It’s more that it just feels right. And something that feels so right just couldn’t be bad. It has to be good.

If it all looks good on the surface, I’ll know I’ve failed at life.

If she let herself, she’d drown in a world of pain.

I guess what scares me the most now is the thought that I won’t be able to protect you.

I just figured out why someone would want to make the first mirror... I think some lover wanted his beloved to see how she appeared to him. He wanted her to be able to see herself the way that he did.

Her brother is crying, he is wretched and broken. Though his sobs are barely audible, he is weeping with absolute and total abandon. Such a naked display of emotion is both alarming and frightening.

If it all looks good on the surface, I'll know I've failed at life

...her hand closes on smooth metal. Her fingers test the sharpness of the edge. Perfect. It's a fresh blade. The girls' voices rustle in her head. Their clamoring pushes out all rational thought. She rolls up her sleeve. The bite of the blade kills the noise. It wipes out the memory of those staring faces. Willow looks at her arm, at the life springing from her. Tiny pinpricks of red that blossom into giant peonies.