"Well, our separate - things." Steph rubs a hand through her hair, a little awkardly. "You will. I'm not gonna tell you it gets easier, though, because it never did."

Sixten years old. Sixteen years old forever, watching her friends age and grow, hearing about her world falling apart, putting itself back together, moving on without her. Never needing to cut her fingernails or trim her hair. Seeing babies born and grow up, their parents develop grey hairs and frowns, knowing she'd never have that. Listening to that soft, whispering call from behind the Door, from Beyond.

"Short of a miracle, it pretty much keeps sucking. But you get better at dealing with it."