She can’t stop writing because she needs, desperately, to reach the apex of horror and watch humanity unravel. She is, in every possible way, her mother’s daughter. And I—at least in some sense—am her. I am Isabella Snow. Right now, at this moment, I am glad to be her. I am glad to have my brain and my body put to a greater use than I could ever give them. Isabella might be bloody, but she’s also brilliant. She came from dark and humble beginnings just like me. But she made something of herself. She built herself up into a person even death could not conquer. She deserves the use of my hands.
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