conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about Frances, Libby, Libby's with the genre: Teen & Young Adult, Literature & Fiction?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Daughter of Deep Silence'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first two paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Daughter of Deep Silence
  It's hard to find fault with the kind of man who takes in strays like Shepherd and me. Because of Cecil, there was no door closed to me. Except the one to my past. That is why I both love him and hate him.
  He saved me, in so many ways: from the ocean; from the tides of whatever system I'd have been thrown into back in Ohio. But the one lifeline he'd cut from me was to that of my own identity.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: But just as on the yacht when I lay on the bed where they'd placed Libby's body, I don't belong here. I am not dead the way Libby and Frances are.
  Which is what pushes me to my feet. I grab the shovel and thrust the bladed end into the ground. Letting anger bolster my courage and spur me forward.
  Thankfully, it's a myth that a grave must be dug six feet deep. In actuality, most cemeteries only require twenty-four inches of dirt between the top of the coffin and the surface. Just enough to make sure the grass can grow back.
  Which is a good thing because, even fueled by rage, my muscles begin to protest before long. By the end of the first hour, they're burning and at the end of the second they're screaming.
  That's when the tip of the shovel connects with something solid. And I gasp. With relief and perhaps also a bit of dread.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I'm so wrapped up in the memory of Shepherd telling me the same thing that I don't even realize she's gone until I look up to find the waiting room empty. I wipe a hand down my face, trying to figure out my next move.
  Because that's the thing—everything in the last four years has been geared to a moment that's now passed. I never considered what would come after. And now that my revenge is wrought, now that retribution is complete...
  I struggle in the end, not knowing how to sign it. And so I leave it blank. But that's the thing about silences and futures; someone always comes along to fill them in. If you let them.
  As always, my family is a continued source of love and support (whose patience is boundless!). Thank you never feels like enough to show how much I love you all!
  There were many hurdles in the way of getting here, but JP was there at every one, ready to catch me if and when I tripped. Thank you, my love!