What was I doing in this city? I’d been leaping from one thing to the next, chasing Fisher, following my mother, filling my loneliness with her assurances that I was special. And I had been; I’d made masterpieces—but they’d been crafted for her approval, and they’d manipulated other people in the process. In the end, I’d been no more faithful to the scents I’d loved than I’d been to my dog, and now I’d lost them all.
