“I think you'd be pretty in any color."-Posy to Octavia”

“But it's Posy, Gale's five-year-old sister, who helps the most. She scoots along the bench to Octavia and touches her skin with a tentative finger. “You're green. Are you sick?”“It's a fashion thing, Posy. Like wearing lipstick,” I say.“It's meant to be pretty,” whispers Octavia, and I can see the tears threatening to spill over her lashes.Posy considers this and says matter-of-factly, “I think you'd be pretty in any color.”

“It's meant to be pretty," whispers Octavia, and I can see the tears threatening to spill over her lashes.Posy considers this and says matter-of-factly, "I think you'd be pretty in any color."The tiniest of smiles forms on Octavia's lips. "Thank you.”

“I could say I think coulds are pretty, and you'd say they're only pretty to demons.”

“Before Octavia was born, I used to think that love bore some relation to merit and to beauty, but now I saw that this was not so.”

“Then Octavia drops to her knees, rubs the hem of a skirt against her cheek, and burst into tears. "It's been so long," she gasps, "since I've seen anything pretty.”