"Thinking
something can make it true. Wanting something can make it real. And
I didn’t regret it anymore. I’d wasted so much time
wishing I could be different, wishing I could change things, change
myself. If given the chance, I would’ve shed myself and
become a different girl. Slipped on a name like Clara or Mary,
docile and gentle and smiling and kind. I thought it would be
easier to be someone else than to be who I was becoming, but I
didn’t think that anymore. The girl who wanted those things
had died with Rachel, buried under the asylum I brought down. And I
realized now, for the first time, really, that I didn’t miss
her."
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