“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.