Alice (The Chronicles of Alice, #1)

by Christina Henry

I cannot spend the remainder of my life as a moth beating its wings against a jar.

“Start by holding your head high,” Hatcher said. “You’re only a mouse if you let them make you one.”

She had learned very quickly that there was always another man waiting to scoop up a helpless girl and put her to his own use.

It made Alice realize how much of life was full of empty stuff, objects longed for because the hope of them made your small life seem bigger, better, brighter.

There was comfort in ignorance, in thinking the world a certain way and not knowing any different.