Mrs. Laroche's voice fades into background noise as I loop a forest green thread around my fingers. My legs swing back and forth on the sofa, my heels nearly knocking into the fancy lion's claw leg that supports the white seat.
My mind can't help but recall Julian's retelling of the unused threads as I draw the thread taut between my fingers. The string doesn't break, its vibrant color indicative of its good quality.
I, for better or worse, want to be part of the tapestry of this world. I want to be free from Peppermint, so I can wholeheartedly focus on carving out a comfortable life for myself. But so far, the only way I can think of weaving myself into the picture is by becoming the promised child that Julia is favored to be.
