I feel as though my life has been mercilessly rearranged; tilted toward some bright and perhaps, at that, a terrible fate. Ever since the morning I awoke to my milk teeth's return in wax, pooling beneath my ribs; I’ve been moving through the world with dazed reverence of a dead man. For the most part, I’ve two companions aswell. A cunning vixen and an actual dead man. Posing opposite arguments. Am I to choose between youth and yearn at the fragile age of seventeen? Will one of them, set my curse free?