“Gripping my arm, Mother held it in the orange-blue flame. My skin seemed to explode from the heat.”

“Hellooo.” I held out my arm. “An amethyst woman with blue hair is telling you this.”She reached out and scraped her short nails over my arm.I snatched my arm back. “Ow.”Not body makeup.” She frowned and peered at the roots of my hair. “A good die-job or you’ve really got blue hair.”For now,” I said. “I’m half Drow.”She raised an eyebrow. Dark Elves.”Uh-huhhhh.”During the day I look normal, like you.”With an amused look she held up her arm, showing her dark, golden skin. “You’re Kenyan and Puerto Rican?”

“After the third call from my mother, he comes in in a Hawaiian shirt. He is, frankly, bright orange. A shade of personal orange that startles even my mother. A shade that doesn't say health, it says Dulux.”

“Grace. I held on to that name. If I kept that in my head, I would be OK.Grace.I was shaking, shaking; my skin peeling away.Grace.My bones squeezed, pinched, pressed against my muscles.Grace.Her eyes held me even after I stopped feeling her fingers gripping my arms.Sam," she said. "Don't go.”

“I was all too aware of his hands resting on my lower back, their imprints like sweet flames that seemed to go through the thin fabric of my dress and onto my skin.”

“sloughing my skin / escaping it's grip / stripped of my wit / it hurts to be me .”