Chapter Two
No one remembered the books but her. Alistair’s eyes drifted open. No one remembered the books but her. The phrase had become something like a blink. A yawn, involuntary. It was the first thought she had every morning since she was ten and she had long come to accept that she had no control over it. Instead, she thought it, she acknowledged it, and she let it slip back into the dark place it came from.
She would’ve loved nothing more than to forget the damned books like everyone else had managed to do. She’d spent years trying everything in her power not to remember them but trying to forget something was like saying don’t blink, don’t breathe. It just made you more aware of the thing you wanted to forget. She didn’t really remember the books anyway, only pieces. The feelings
