That is the madness of it. Every day is amber, and she is the fly trapped inside. No way to think in days or weeks when she lives in moments. Time begins to lose its meaning – and yet, she has not lost track of time. She cannot seem to misplace it (no matter how she tries) and so Addie knows what month it is, what day, what night, and so she knows it has been a year.A year since she ran from her own wedding.A year since she fled from the woods.A year since she sold her soul for this. For freedom. For time. A year, and she has spent it leaning the boundaries of this new life.