“They prickled her like thorns and leaves growing under her skin, and she felt the ache of a glass vine caging her forearm. They would crack, and the jagged pieces would cut into her wrists. Her blood would tint the glass. It would splinter and cut deeper into her.”

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Originally said in English.

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About Anna-Marie McLemore

Anna-Marie McLemore is quoted here; further biographical details are not publicly available.

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