Whenever I’d throw a mini tantrum when I was a kid, my mom would turn to the witnesses in the grocery store or the library and just shake her head and say, “She’s an Aries,” as if they should know that meant I’m stubborn and I have a temper and I hate being told what to do. And I do. I really, really hate being told what to do. I level my shoulders, bunch my hands into fists, and stare into those bright, bottomless eyes of the Demon King and say, “No.”
