In her fearless and often shamelessly dark humor, Skye presents the paradox of the voiceless child in her own ordeal and demonstrates how even the best studied of places can hide terrible practices.
It wasn't until I made searing contact that I realized it was actually a rosebush. I hit the ground, torn and bleeding but free.
In spite of the open door and my nakedness, I wasn't going to look weak. I held her gaze. These people weren't going to break me after all I had already been through.