Nameless I came into the world, and nameless I remain. Language affords no more than the barest guess of what I am.

The prickle on your skin when you’re alone. The whisper in your ear. The shadow cast off-kilter, moving on its own.

I am watching.

Better mind your manners.

Casey Laine comes from a long line of talkative women. She parlays this abundance of words into many writings: journals, poetry, and of course several novels in progress. In her spare time, she chases butterflies with her camera and walks her giant dog.