Jane Ladue continues.
"From 4:30 it's study time, and that lasts till dinner." She takes a bite of her PB&J and ponders for a sec. "At dinner we talk about our days," she finishes with an unsatisfactory smile.
Jane wants approval from her parents. It's what drives her.
"Would they be mad if I buy this fruit punch with the lunch money I didn't spend today?" she wonders. "For wanting it am I wasteful? Sinful?"
"Or, if I buy this fruit punch that they disapprove of, will it give me leverage somewhere else?" she also wonders. "Maybe they'll start giving out less money if I don't spend it all."
She's a budding accountant out to spend the last of the budget before the dawn of a new fiscal year.
She's a budding accountant out to spend the last of the budget before the dawn of a new fiscal year.
And she's a typical teenager with an atypical mind, atypical because she's planning a murder in her head, a fictional fanticide, an imaginative ill. A lover of literature, and appreciative of the powers of the pen, however Jane's not sure if this theft of breath will take place on this plane or on that of the imagination.
It's these secrets in her head that her mom and pop would disapprove of the most.
"But they're mine," she thinks devilishly. "All mine."
It's these secrets in her head that her mom and pop would disapprove of the most.
"But they're mine," she thinks devilishly. "All mine."
What really sets her apart, though, and what should scare all of her classmates over at Sage Ritzkan, is that she can't decipher the difference between the two planes of reality -- the one she sees versus the one she imagines -- all that well.
What's upstairs tends to leak onto the page of reality like an old quill that was dipped glutinously deep into the reservoir. A wraith in the corner over there. A whisper from behind those curtains right here. Black. Always black.
What's upstairs tends to leak onto the page of reality like an old quill that was dipped glutinously deep into the reservoir. A wraith in the corner over there. A whisper from behind those curtains right here. Black. Always black.
And this is the secret fact she's hidden behind her studies and her discrete fashion sense from her parents for these past few yet oh so formative years.
"Who will die first?" she wonders, as if it's not up to her.
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