I don’t think I was ever really that type of girl. I’ve always cared far too much about what I looked like and what I was wearing, and much too little about what people thought about me. I never really cared if I was the butt of the joke, as long as I could make them laugh. When you told me about the monsters in the dark, I went to check, not because I was afraid, but because I wanted an adventure. I loved pink and lace and ribbons and sparkles. I believed in magic. I wasn’t focused like you. I didn’t believe them when they said that would lead to the good life. I was always heading out off the path and looking for the ghosts and goblins you tried to warn me about. What’s a good life if not full of good stories?