You always loved the rain. You claimed it gave you a thrill to see the heavy grey clouds looming overhead, yet all I saw in it was ruined plans. But today it feels like my accomplice, washing the dirt off of my shovel and the crimson off of my hands.

Multiple times a week, Elodie Neal is kept awake by the stories demanding escape from her mind. Once in a while she gives them the courtesy of escaping onto paper.