a storm of swords, george r.r. martin. / flowers in the attic, v.c. andrews.
the gods heard my prayer, she thought. she felt so numb and dreamy. my skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.
where was that fragile, golden-fair dresden doll i used to be? gone. gone like porcelain turned into steel-made into someone who would always get what she wanted, no matter who or what stood in her way.














