1
Like Mom, Zoe thought—like Mom used to. And that’s where they differed, for Zoe wrote quiet poetry suffused with twilight and questions. It’s not even good poetry, she thought. I don’t have talent, it’s her. I should be the one ill; she has so much to offer, so much life. “You’re a dark one, ” her mother said sometimes with amused wonder. “You’re a mystery.Annette Curtis Klause
2
Believe this, " he whispered, and kissed her with the sharp, sleek kiss, the silver kiss, so swift and true, and razor sharp, and her warmth was flowing into him.Annette Curtis Klause