It was winter and we were all spinning dreams. They grew over the year, like ice-flowers over a glass window. Each of us had our own—hidden, clutched in our hands like tiny birds. We buried them deep in the hush of snow. They were inside each of us: the brave boy, the moon fearer, inside the loyal friend and the cold pureblood. Secret roots grew deep in the ribs of Plain Jane and Green Eyes. They lurked inside me, those thoughts to keep warm with in winter. Inside me: Practically Betrothed.

It was only a matter of time before we were all a part of each other’s secrets.