Kate faced the crowd. They were just eyes and teeth to her, just spit and voices. It was a moment, even, before they became people: a man with one blind eye, another whose neck was thick with lumps and weeping wounds of scrofula. The poorest of the market.At Kate's feet, Drina. Her scarf and shirt were torn open.
Did my courage make you crazy? Cripple you with the unknown?Did my silence create desire make you feel things you could not discern?Is my shinning light exploding? Can your eyes not yet adjust?Is my forgiveness running through you? Knowing your pain I will not digest?Is my confidence disrupting the girl you LOVE to HATE the most?