But she wonders now if she’s been splintering ever since that day, if one night she quietly crossed over an invisible line and now it’s not a problem she can stuff under her bed any longer. Cora is used to terror, a worry that wrings your organs out and carves holes in you like termites in wooden furniture, but if enough of you is devoured, soon there’s nothing left of you but what was, and Cora is starting to feel full of holes, like Yifei can look straight through her.
