“All because you were born into a family that could afford these things for you. This is called a privilege and you must never forget it.”

Grief makes unlikely warriors out of us all.

These are girls made of dark lace and witchcraft and a little bit of vice.

But the universe never promised you this would be easy. After all, you are the hero here.

Tell them all what they tried to kill came back. Tell them all that I have come home.

You are still the kindest thing that ever happened to me, even if that is not how our tale is told.

A clever woman is more lethal than a freshly crafted magic wand, and that is why she is fear.

Ghosts of the person you used to be are so proud of who you are, they live on inside you applauding you for living on despite your scars.

A story is no small thing.

Fill your life with women that empower you, that help you believe in your magic and aid them to believe in their own exceptional power and their incredible magic too. Women that believe in each other can survive anything. Women who believe in each other create armies that will win kingdoms and wars.

Your body is not a first aid kit for broken people and damaged souls and hearts that are too tired to fix themselves.

You are half fairytale, half girl.

How do you go back to being strangers with someone who has seen your soul?

We have all taken turns being Red Riding Hood and we have all been the wolf.

Remember, there are beginnings in endings, through destruction there comes life.

Everyone you love is slowly dying and if you choose not to love them right they will die without knowing.

That sadness that you do not speak of, that haunts you in the ache of midnight. Give it to me, I want to heal that.