With her I'd buried myself, every memory of who I was now, six feet under with the sister I'd put there.

I'm already gone. I died that night on the side of that road with my sister.

Perfection isn't everything," she said as she turned and walked away. "I think the flaws are what make it perfect.

Every story needs some sort of secret that impels it forward. Otherwise why would the reader bother to keep on turning the pages?

Ah well that I can't tell you." Diana ducked her head so that the brim of her bonnet covered her face. "Some things must remain a mystery and for now I think I'll keep my opinion of you and your compliments to myself.

The best secrets are the most twisted