I never wanted to hurt anyone.
I was three when I first said it out loud, standing in the rose garden with grass stains on my knees and both fists clenched, as though I could hold the whole world to a promise by squeezing hard enough.
"I'll never hurt anyone," I told them. "Not ever."
Mother laughed and knelt to gather me up, her hair smelling of the lavender she kept in every drawer. Father did not laugh. Father rarely did. But he crouched until his eyes were level with mine, set one large hand on my head, and the corner of his mouth moved in the way Jin and I had learned to treasure because it happened so seldom.
"Then hold yourself to it, little princess," he said. "That is all a promise asks."
I held myself to it. I held myself to it so hard.
