The First Sin (Rosary Marks #1)

Ink on Paper

Thirty-three? You are ancient!

And I’m sorry, oh wise one, but simply ‘being here,’ as you put it, feels exactly like nothing.

I go to work. I come home. I sleep. I wake up. I talk to people and none of it sticks.

No one sees me. Not really.

You’re the only person who doesn’t talk to me like I’m something fragile that might break, and you’re just ink on a piece of paper.

Which is ridiculous, because you don’t even know me.

Not really.

—Reva