More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Where are you, Madison Culver? Flying with the angels, a silver speck on a wing? Are you dreaming, buried under the snow? Or is it possible, after three years missing, you are still alive?
Snow was falling outside. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it. It’s funny how you can hear something as soft as falling snow.
In the years since, she had discovered the sacrament of life did not demand memory. Like a leaf that drank from the morning dew, you didn’t question the morning sunrise or the sweet taste on your mouth. You just drank.
She could feel her veins filling with nutrients as she ate, as if she were one of the trees outside, drinking in the milk of the melted snow.
Part of the tug of her forgotten past was the danger of those who acted nice.
“There is nothing to know about me.” She said it in a way that put a shiver through him—as if she was as nameless as the trees, as formless as the wind, as empty as the cave she had fallen into. As if she could vanish as easily as the children she sought.
Shame was a peculiar beast, Naomi knew. She suspected everyone had it: the dragon they wanted to slay. But for her it was different. Naomi wanted to bathe in it, to stand under its waterfall and come out blessed.
If what had happened to her was too horrifying to remember, then that was how God wanted it—He would store those artifacts in heaven for her, for delivery to hell.
“I think you are afraid of something else,” he told her as she settled into the seat. He looked down at her like he felt sorry for her, and she felt a chill—like there was a piece of the world she was missing. “What am I afraid of?” she asked, her mouth dry. “You are afraid,” he said, leaning down, so he was almost whispering in her ear, “of being found.”
