hallucinations were starting—of that she was certain. The rapture was coming, and she feared there would be no turning back. She was going to become a faerie fruit addict—deranged like the man who’d attacked her on the yellow brick road, or insane like Oz. Yearning and yearning for each precious bite of fruit while it blackened her teeth and tickled her insides. She would never be able to think clearly again—she’d be positively mad like the Mad Hatter from her favorite childhood story.
