“Hasta la vista, bitch.”

“Robot. Is. Sad. Because silly bitch. Will. Not. Dance.”

“Bitches will take your ass down if you try to publish that. Peace out.”

“-¿Estáis listas? ¿Empiezo? Había una vez cuatro chicas. Una era guapa. Otra era lista. Otra encantadora y la cuarta... [...] misteriosa. Pero estaban heridas. Había algo en ellas que les faltaba. Algo en la sangre. Grandes sueños. Ah, lo olvidaba. Lo siento, tenía que haberlo dicho antes: eran todas soñadoras, las cuatro [...]. Noche tras noche, las chicas se reunían. Y pecaban [...] Su pecado consistía en que creían. Creían que podían ser diferentes. Especiales. Creían que podían cambiar lo que eran: chicas heridas a quienes nadie quería. Marginadas. Estarían vivas, las adorarían, las necesitarían. Serían necesarias. Pero se equivocaban. [...] Fueron por mal camino. Las traicionaron sus propias esperanzas estúpidas. Las cosas no podían cambiar para ellas, porque en realidad no tenían nada de especial. Así que la vida las arrastró, las condujo y ellas se dejaron llevar, ¿entendéis? Se fueron apagando hasta quedar reducidas a fantasmas vivientes, persiguiéndose entre sí.”

“Pero el perdón...Me aferraré a esa frágil porción de esperanza y la mantendré cerca de mi, recordando que en cada uno de nosotros hay cosas buenas y malas, luz y oscuridad, arte y dolor, elecciones y lamentaciones.”

“What about you and me, Adina?” Duff said, sidling up to her by the railing. “I know I screwed up. But do you think we could start over?”Adina thought about everything that had happened. Part of her wanted to kiss Duff McAvoy, the tortured British trust-fund-runaway-turned-pirate-of-necessity who loved rock ‘n’ roll and mouthy-but-vulnerable bass-playing girls from New Hampshire. But he didn’t exist. Not really. He was a creature of TV and her imagination, a guy she’d invented as much as he’d invented himself. And this was what she suddenly understood about her mother: how with each man, each husband, she was really trying to fill in the sketchy parts of herself and become somebody she could finally love. It was hard to live in the messiness and easier to believe in the dream. And in that moment, Adina knew she was not her mother after all. She would make mistakes, but they wouldn’t be the same mistakes. Starting now.“Sorry,” she said, heading for the bow, where a spot of sun looked inviting. ”Oh, also, about that blog? Just so you know, my dads know a lot of gay lawyers. Bitches will take your ass down if you try to publish that. Peace out.”

“Give yourself to me, Gemma, and you will never be alone again. You'll be worshiped. Adored. Loved. But you must give yourself to me- a willing sacrifice.'Tears slip down my face. 'Yes,' I murmur. Gemma, don't listen,' Circe says hoarsely, and for a moment, I don't see Eugenia; I see only the tree, the blood pumping beneath its pale skin, the bodies of the dead hanging from it like chimes.I gasp, and Eugenia is before me again. 'Yes, this is what you want, Gemma. Try as you might, you cannot kill this part of yourself. The solitude of the self taht waits just under the stairs of your soul. Always there, no matter how much you've tried to get rid of it. I understand. I do. Stay with me and never be lonely again.'Don't listen... to that... bitch,' Circe croaks, and the vines tighten around her neck.No, you're wrong,' I say to Eugenia as if coming out of a long sleep. 'You couldn't kill this part of yourself. And you couldn't accept it, either.'I'm sure I don't know what you mean.' she says, sounding uncertain for the first time.That's why they were able to take you. They found your fear.'And what, pray, was it?'Your pride. You couldn't believe you might have some of the same qualities as the creatures themselves.'I am not like them. I am their hope. I sustain them.'No. You tell yourself that. That's why CIrce told me to search my dark corners. So I wouldn't be caught off guard.'Circe laughts, a splintered cackle that finds a way under my skin.And what about you, Gemma?' Eugenia purrs. 'Have you "searched" yourself, as you say?'I've done things I'm not proud of. I've made mistakes,' I say, my voice growing stronger, my fingers feeling for the dagger again. 'But I've done good, too.'And yet, you're alone. All that trying and still you stand apart, watching from the other side of the grass. Afraid to have what you truly want because what if it's not enough after all? What if you get it and you still feel alone and apart? So much better to wrap yourself in the longing. The yearning. The restlessness. Poor Gemma. She doesn't quite fit, does she? Poor Gemma- all alone.It's as if she's delivered a blow to my heart. My hand falters. 'I-I...'Gemma, you're not alone,' Circe gasps, and my hand touches metal.No. I'm not. I'm like everyone else in this stupid, bloody, amazing world. I'm flawed. Impossibly so. But hopeful. I'm still me.' I've got it now. Sure and strong in my grip. 'I see through you. I see the truth.”