“Your crown is made of people’s bones and hunger”

So much for a pep talk.

It seems that no matter how well I do I will always and forever be destined for sorrow, my mother won’t even stand near me, as if I am some disease about to plague my next victim.

“Ambe- AMBER!”

“What?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes yes, crown, bones, and blah”

I should be listening to what she’s saying, but it’s probably more about how I’m a terrible daughter, or the devil ‘new and improved’.

“You really are a terrible investment to one’s time,”

“Takes one to know one”

She seems surprised, almost as if it’s me that’s making a fuss.