Love
as choice or chance? As default or defeat? You would think the answers would
come more easily over time. You would be wrong. For Ruth, the questions grew
larger, developed spikes that brushed the edges of who she was, scratching her
skin, turning love from comfort into something colder, more cutting. Icicles in
the interior, a forest on the verge of burning down. Nature red in tooth and
claw. Blood, ready to spill.
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