"As a child I made a pact with my mother. I agreed that we were doomed, that she and I abided together in a cocoon of melancholy."

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Each day the memories weigh a little heavier. Each day they drag you down that bit further. You wind them around you, a single thread at a time, and you weave your own shroud, you build a cocoon, and in it madness grows.

— Mark Lawrence