The Devil Came Between Us

The Devil Came Between Us

“Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm” said Mercutio, 

As he lay there on the street, dying.

It must be true, then, that history only remembers the winners and survivors,

Because while the love story of the two star crossed lovers, bravest Romeo and purest Juliet lives on to this day,

No one thinks of the children killed,

The names of Tybalt and Mercutio forgotten.

While the feud of Montagues and Capulets was raging,

The future generations were dying. 

In a fit of rage, Tybalt killed Mercutio, and Romeo killed Tybalt, who had wanted to kill Romeo.


A never ending cycle of detestment and hatred and murder, 

And who ends up on top?

Tybalt, the short tempered Capulet?

Romeo, the hasty Montague?

Mercutio, a witty member of neither party?


No one ends up on top, no one wins. 


If Shakespeare is going to be honored for writing a tale of two lovers fated to meet and die,

Then he should also be honored for showing his readers the truth.

The reality of the same cycle we have been forced into.

Everyone has fought, betrayed and lied.

Driven by theses temporary emotions,

We fly into a rage, and though it is improbable we have left physical bodies behind,

The mental husks of it will haunt us forever. 

Ghosts of our pasts, invisible to the human eye, that impact our decisions,


And actions.


No one realizes anything,

Shakespeare, like other poets and authors of the world, 

Has shown us the rare truth.

And in an earth where life is the stage, and we are the actors, lying and faking emotions that aren’t there,

The truth isn’t something we are used to seeing.


Maybe the devil had come between us as well.

Maybe with us always wrapped up in our own lives, 

We let this rage simmer and boil until it couldn’t possibly be faked anymore. 

Friends fell trying to stop it, 

And we fell feeding into our pettiness.

And just like with the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet,

No one ended up on top.

Audrey Chen is a fourteen year old poet and author, her literary works often reflecting on the themes and brutalities of real life. She is addicted to reading Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, and loves putting symbolism and metaphors into her writing.




There once was a girl,

A girl who dreamed of a world with unicorns and such.

This girl was beautiful, but flawed

She saw her way of walking, her smile, even her laugh as a cherishing indifference.

In her world she was perfectly imperfect.

This girl grew and was now a teenager,

A teenager who broke and cracked

Took apart her body to find something, even just a mere glimpse of beauty.

Staring at the unwanted reflection in the circular long mirror that leaned on her wall

Taunting her with every glance.

The reflection that looks back at her with a frown.

There is a teenager girl,

She’s consciously imperfect.

There is a bully, seeking a defective smile, a wonky walk, or even an ounce of fat,

Tearing the young girl apart at the seams,

Destroying her once ever so beautiful perception,

Of herself.

There will be a woman.

She will look in the cracked reflection,

The reflection that has been staring back with devastation,

All these years,


There is a bully.

There is a teenage girl.

There once was a girl, who always saw the glow that outlined her from head to toe.

Skyler Kucowski is 17 years old and lives in Northeast Philadelphia with her parents, grandparents, and little sister. She loves animals and nature. She loves poetry: both reading and writing it. Poetry is her way of expressing herself and expressing her struggles and insecurities through a beautiful flow of words.


Safety in the Plants

Safety in the Plants

Blue hues of the night scatter the outside

Big little windows peek on the sky, while sitting in the inside

A group of laughter hides within the room.

Plants from every corner dream to loom

Stacks of lies lay written inside.

A table that reads every lie

Which makes the plants laugh and cry.

The couch of wonders lingers the pain,

From a girl who never liked to play.

She sits on the destined couch,

Waiting for the room to shout

After all this kind of pain,

She wonders if the plants will laugh today?

Jazmyne Moseley is in eleventh grade and goes to Franklin Towne Charter High School. She likes to write poetry and short stories for fun. She also likes to read and build lego sets. Her favorite color is blue, and she enjoys living in quietness. She lives in Philadelphia, PA with her dog, Bailey, and her mom.


He is My Slither of Sunshine (full version)




The last few people file into the courtroom and take their seats with BAILEY and MILO sitting adjacent from VINCENT at the front. 


All rise! 

(Everyone stands to show their respect.) 


Alright thank you, be seated. 

BAILEY is sitting uncomfortably in her seat in the courtroom next to MILO, who is standing on his chair staring angrily at VINCENT.


How did I let this happen to me? Of course life finally gives me an opportunity after failing me for years. And I leap at it, like a pathetic little mouse. All I wanted was to provide for Milo, stupid, stupid, stupid come on Bailey!–I bet you’re wondering what this is all about? This conniving lowlife, me, and my kid in this court, completely unknowing of the future outcome. All of this is a result of one       unfortunate morning.



(BAILEY reaches into her cardigan pocket and pulls out a small slip with a phone number on it. A car wash company answers the phone.)


(On the phone)

Hello? Yes, thank you I’m calling to–


(On the phone)

Well figure it out–and do it soon! You can’t just wait around for opportunities to come smack you in the face that’s how you lose your place in this world!

VINCENT (knocks several chairs as he beelines for the door. Along the way he bumps into BAILEY, causing her phone to go flying across the floor.)


My phone! Hey, watch where you’re going! 

VINCENT (turns around to face BAILEY), (his face stained with rage.) 



Excuse me? Do you know who you are speaking to? 


I think I’m speaking to the a**hole who has no   spatial awareness!

VINCENT (turns around to face BAILEY), his face stained with rage.


You’re Vincent Thorne…no way, I’m dreaming. I have to be–(BAILEY pinches her arm), (coming to the realization that what she is seeing is really happening.) 


I apologize for snapping out on you–please forget everything I just said, I’m Bailey, I love your books they’re so inspiring, I use them as reference for my own! 

VINCENT smiles wickedly.  (Vincent seems to have calmed down after taking a closer look at BAILEY’S face.)


Well, I’m so honored to have such a big fan. I suppose I can accept your apology.


(murmuring to herself)

Stay calm Bailey, I repeat stay calm, natural,   cool, take a breath. You do NOT want to come off as one of THOSE fangirls.

(VINCENT picks up BAILEY’S phone, returning it to her.)


Thanks, uh it’s been a real pleasure meeting you Vincent, sir–.I know you’ve probably got a lot going on right now–wouldn’t wanna keep you too long. (nervously) Ahh–I’m gonna go grab a coffee, it’s been a  busy morning you know? 


(laughing) Do I ever! I wish you luck on your journey. 

BAILEY smiles, before finding her way into the line. VINCENT is about to leave when he catches a glimpse of the story BAILEY refused to delete. His interest peaked,  and he is very intrigued. BAILEY returns with a coffee in hand, shocked that he didn’t leave yet. 


(he reads page 1)(intrigued) I must say this story of yours is quite interesting. 


Oh it’s nothing really– 


Nonsense! An intelligent young rose such as yourself needs a strong environment to flourish in. 



If only that environment wasn’t in fairytale land.


Fairytale hm? Well, would it be too unrealistic for me to invite you to work with me on my team? 


(voice cracking as she speaks) 

Are you sure? I mean-I might mess up–or–but–I would be absolutely honored to work with such a  big star. 


I’m sure…Bailey 


Oh thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me! 


Oh I think I might. 

BAILEY grabs his hand with both of hers aggressively shaking his. 


Let’s meet up here on Wednesday at noon? 


Yes, Wednesday works great.

MUSIC UP: The Cure, “Just Like Heaven” 


BAILEY and VINCENT at a table working through the book each week. They get closer, sharing laughs and various pastries and seasonal drinks together. 

VINCENT’s chair inches closer towards hers with each new clip. In some of the clips, they are seen hanging outside together. 

In another clip VINCENT tries to move his hand closer to BAILEY’S, but BAILEY moves away to write something oblivious to the action.





Why are we stopping here? I thought we were going home.


Mama has to finish up some details on her new book.




VINCENT is inside with his computer booted up, sitting at the round table they always sit at.


Milo meet Vincent! He’s the man making all this possible for both of our dreams honey.

MILO stares blankly at him.


Uh–well, Vincent, meet my son, Milo, once he

gets to know you, he’s quite the chatterbox.


It’s a pleasure to finally meet you young man.


Can’t say the same about you, bub.

BAILEY shoots MILO a hostile look.


Milo be kind! Sorry Vincent, he’s always had a bit of a cynical approach to meeting new people.


It’s alright no harm done, cynical mindsets are required in this day and age, and to be quite honest; I’ve never been good with meeting others either. 


(under his breath)

Maybe it’s cause you look like a clown who lost his wig.


(Pleading to MILO)

I know you’re itching to go home, but this won’t take too long, please be patient.

(MILO pulls a sketchbook and starts doodling at the table.) BAILEY pulls her computer out of her backpack after they are all seated. As she opens the computer, the plant centered in the middle of the table is knocked over, rolling onto the floor. 


Ah clumsy me.

In an attempt to pick it up, BAILEY crushes the plant with her foot. She winces as she hears the noise.


No need for that Bailey, they’ll simply dispose of it and place a new plant there.


Still a shame, it looked newly potted.


Don’t worry about it, things are always coming and going in this life.


That’s true…

MILO’s stomach growls loudly.


Why don’t I get us something to eat?


I’m ok, but it sounds like Milo has a monster in his tummy that can’t wait.

MILO flushes, embarrassed.


Ugh Mama!

BAILEY rummages through her bag, pulling out a bunch of change and a few dollars.


Put your money away Bailey, it’s on me.


It’s ok really, I can’t make you pay for everything.


I insist.

VINCENT walks over to get into line. MILO watches him with untrusting squinty eyes.

Int. School Book Fair. Night 

MILO and BAILEY walking around trying to find him a book. 


Look it’s a new one of your favorite texture books, never touch a…seahorse!



Mama I haven’t read those books since I was 5!


Oh hush I know you still read them sometimes– and anyway we don’t have all night to pick a book, I’m only trying to help you.


I know Mama but can I maybe go look around by myself please? 


I don’t know Milo, just because we’re in school doesn’t mean necessarily mean it’s safe… 


Come on Mama! I’m 7 now I’m all grown and stuff, and if anyone tries anything I’ll show them what I’m made of! 

MILO throws his leg in the air, imitating ninja-like kicks. 



Alright, I trust you, just don’t go too far. 

MILO wanders around, weaving in and out of the several bookshelf sections. He stops, mesmerized by a legal thriller book on display with an intricate flashy cover. He continues down this aisle before seeing his mother’s book on display. 


MAMA! Come quick! Hurry! 

BAILEY rushes over to the scene frantically, dropping the books in her hands. 


What’s wrong? Are you ok Milo? Did something happen? 


MILO pulls the book down from in front of his face. 


Mama look! It’s your book! 


BAILEY squats down next to Milo, ruffling his hair with her hand. 


(light laugh) 

Right you are Milo…things are looking up for us.

MILO throws himself into BAILEY’S arms and they share a big hug. 


Tell you what my little artist, when we get our own house you can let your creativity run wild. 




Can you read me your book I wanna hear about your cool book Mama. 


Well this book is bit longer than your other books.


But it’s yours Mama I really want to listen…pleaseeee.


Alright, alright, I’ll read a few pages…This is about a little boy who lives in a faraway land of magic.

BAILEY turns to the first page with the title, ‘To Prey Upon a Wishing Star’ and credits and notices the book lists only one name, ‘Vincent Thorne’. She turns back to the cover. No sign of her name still. 


What’s wrong? 



He didn’t credit me… 


That stupid guy did a bad thing after all! 



Milo, I told you about using that word before. 


Sorry mama, I’m just so angry– I knew he was a bad guy! 

MUSIC UP: Cage The Elephant, “Cigarette Daydreams” 



This is surely a mistake, or maybe this one just printed wrong!  

BAILEY searches through the shelves. She tears book after book from the shelves until she is surrounded in a sea of books. Her face drops as she realizes this was not a mistake. 


Oh who are you fooling BAILEY, you’ve been played, it’s obvious. How could this have happened? This is all so wrong. 


Saileana Perterkin is 16 and lives in Roxborough-Manayunk. She is often found practicing  guitar or playing with one of her three younger brothers. Writing has always been a hobby of hers, alongside drawing my characters. 

Bluegrass Condo

Bluegrass Condo

September 2012…a time I will NEVER forget. Up to that point in my life I lived with my mother, Melissia, in my Pop-Pops blue row home house for years.  I was consistently bouncing between life with my mother in that row home, and my Nan’s Parkwood house with big purple curtains with my  father, Bruce. Melissia had met my now stepfather Ricky, and we moved into Bluegrass Condos in Northeast Philly. Condo number 11 with the white door was the perfect size for 3 people: 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms,  a small box kitchen, and a good size living room with the dining room alongside it.  It was extremely comfortable and I always felt safe.  

Living in the condo, all I could think about is happy memories and how much love the house was filled with. Dull moments NEVER appeared in that condo. I was still young and a newborn was on the way.  Between how outgoing Ricky was and how funny Melissia thought she could be, there were always laughs and jokes flooding the house. It makes me happy to know I had the chance to experience living there and  creating memories. It is now upsetting that I will never be able to go back in time to that period of my  life. 

Me, Melissia, and Ricky… I was 6 moving in, Melissia was 26 and Ricky’s was 29. Melissia became pregnant before we moved in with my first brother Mason. She continued to work through her pregnancy until retiring from bartending at Stadium on Street Road, now called Jimmy’s, before going into labor. Ricky was a project manager, working for Villanova University for many years. I went to school at FitzPatrick Elementary School for kindergarten and first grade while living there. Mason decided to give everyone a Christmas miracle and be born right before our first Christmas in the condo: December 18th, 2012. 

Ricky and Melissia were supportive and always made times fun. Ricky has always felt more of a  positive and stable father figure to me even though my dad had been and is still in the picture. He taught me a lot about who I am as a person and has always pushed and motivated me to want to do better. Comforting me in times of need, he always took me in as his own child even though he  was not with us at birth. Melissia has always been a role model of mine. She has been through all the challenging times with me and taught me what it was like to have a mother figure in my life. Regardless  of how difficult it was to grow up with split parents, she always made it easy for me and supported me in my  choices and whatever I wanted to be. Melissia has never failed me as a mother, regardless of where we  lived growing up, always filling the house with love. Both Ricky and Melissia have taught me what  love and support should feel like without having to ask my whole life. No matter how big or small, the  things they have done helped create a million amazing memories I carry with me to this day, all from the brief time we spent together in the Bluegrass Condo.

Haley Keebler-Lentz is a senior at Franklin Towne Charter High School. This short story was inspired by her personal experience growing up and how it was learning to accept new people into her life at a young age. She now lives with her mom, step father and two brothers in Northeast Philadelphia.


Where Philly Never Falls Apart

Where Philly Never Falls Apart



When the sky started to fall,

it’s not the sirens, but it’s the screams 

that made the call:

Our universe was ripping at its seams. 


It’s not hell that’s broken loose,

but all of life, in just a single breath. 

It’s the universe’s final introduce, 

the final steps, to death.  



The walls of the world, 

come tumbling down.

This life’s last minutes unfurled,

in Earth’s every temple and town.  


City Hall’s on fire, 

but not one soul to pity it. 

The water climbs up and higher,

as the ground beneath me split. 


But even then, my feet ran 

over the shaking ground, 

past every dying woman and man,

through the city’s cries in surround. 


Every mother’s plea, a tale I’ll never know. 

And every home, a temporary grave. 



I was much too young,

when my heart was 25,

yet with the end among

I’ve grown to be a tall child, unready to die. 


I don’t know if there’s a sky, 

beyond this storm.

This could really be, 

where Philly falls apart. 



I breathe once more,

the moment I see you.

Even at the end of time’s score,

There’s only one soul mine belongs to. 



Running into your arms again, 

my only home,

I knew right then, 

I’d never let you die alone.



You weren’t down for forever,

and we were,

never meant for each other.

…but we face the end




The old song’s words,

nothing ever lasts forever.”,

But it’s the end of the world,

and we’re starting over.

For it’s not always the end that’s thus.

Because sometimes, the apocalypse is within us.



I climb into the dark, for you. 

hoping you’ll wait in the stars, for me.

And into the plunge of light we go,

holding hands so tight, a forever-rope.



Because right here, in these two hearts

This is where, Philly never falls apart. 

Samrithaa “H.V.” Vadivelan is a student at Methacton Senior HS, vice president of Lower Providence’s Teen Advisory Board, and director of Zha Literary Arts Magazine. She is also the web admin for Element Literary Arts Magazine, and a certified staff writer for her school newspaper, The Windy Hill. 




Father returned from the military when I was in grade school. He looked at me with timid disdain that I had never seen him with before, and figured he just had a sad face. He visited for three weeks, during which time he spoke to me twice. The greeting was one. The second time, he came into my bedroom and saw his picture on the nightstand. He was blond and smiling and quite young. “That’s an old picture,” he said woefully, then turned off my lamp and left.

He spent his time huddled in his office, a room which had been locked my whole life. On the last night, before his scheduled return to the military, while Mother was asleep, I, in my pajamas, snuck quietly into the office. The light was off, and I heard a thud atop the desk. I crawled beneath and saw a leather sheath on the carpeted floor. Engraved on the leather were the words “US Army.” Next to the sheath was a shiny, slender knife, with a splendid wooden handle and a black blade. I picked these items up, held them to my chest, and slipped out of the room. I failed to see in the dark the blood on the knife, or Father slumped over on the desk.


Lanzano’s Butcher Shop was my first job. I lasted a month. Tony, the old man behind the counter who used to give me a slice of salami every time Mother and I went shopping, effortlessly hacked up whole pigs in an instant, could slice by hand thinner and more precise than any machine. I stocked the shelves, mostly, but wanted to learn the craft. I was a lousy butcher. The little scars on my fingers still show in the right light. I wanted to be the best with knives. I still had the Army knife, but had never told Mother.


I committed my first crime with the knife —after Luigi Canaveri, the older kid from the building next door, paid me two hundred forty-four dollars and seventy-two cents out of his pocket —prying open the mailbox for Apartment 2A to steal and bring to Canaveri the large, orange envelope. I didn’t think of it as a crime —that was the way things went in our neighborhood, Canaveri had an influential family, and I was glad to have the money. This wouldn’t make me a monster.


I walked Luisa home from the club, still giddy from the music and the fact that she’d agreed to see me, when an older man emerged from the shadows and started yelling at us in Italian. I had seen him before outside of the bar across town. Stepping in front of Luisa, I brandished the knife, cursing at the man, until he reluctantly left. Luisa squealed and threw her arms around me. I had never been happier. I kissed her at the doorstep, and she smiled and ran up the stairs.


I married Luisa on the seventh of November, in the church. No one objected; it was a perfect marriage, everyone knew. She didn’t look great in white, and I never looked great in a suit, but it was perfect. She grinned the entire day, and her grandmother, forgetting my name, kissed us both on the cheek. Her grandfather smelled of cologne and cigarettes. Mother, in a green wool dress, held me closely before Luisa and I hopped in the car and left. 

On the road out of the city, another car ran into ours. Luisa screamed. We had to be at the hotel by six. I slammed the door on the way out of the car and told the man this, and told him that I had a wife, still in her wedding dress, that he had made her cry. The man threw up his hands and said he hadn’t meant it. He wrote a check for the repairs and apologized, but I was young and excited and had just gotten married, and when he got back into his car and started to console the toddler in the backseat, I grabbed the knife and slashed his tires, and Luisa and I drove away.


As soon as Luisa left, in a huff, to sleep at her mother’s for the night, I pried the knife out from the wooden dinner table. It was stuck in there, and after a while, I decided to leave it and brew some tea before bed. My throat hurt from screaming.


I took the knife, sweat clinging to my forehead, separating my hair into vicious strands, and screamed, my throat ripping, and brought the blade down with such ferocity and abhorrence until it sunk into his flesh. Then I brought it up again, and back down into him, and again, until a splatter of his blood burned my eye, and I brushed it aside, and my face was wet with sweat and blood. I screamed again, and lifted his head, and slammed it into the floor, again, again. Luisa’s body still lay, half-dressed, face shocked, on his bed. I had only stabbed her once.


In the attic, I took the knife, newly cleaned, and carved her face out of the picture. She was smiling with crimson lips in her teal, two-piece swimsuit, her hair tucked into a modest swim cap of the same color, the bright pastel tones of the Italian coastline surrounding us.


Luigi Canaveri was my first visitor, before Mother even. He had gained weight in the past year; he looked like his father, small mustache and all. He held both of my hands across the table and laughed. He was always much more careful with his crimes, and had his father’s men to look after him when he wasn’t.

I never saw my knife again. I would think about it, though, sitting in an evidence locker, rusting, never to be used again, for good or evil. From the military to the suicide to the murder, it didn’t deserve what we had done to it.

Zooey Krezelak is a sophomore at Cheltenham High School in Wyncote, Pennsylvania. She enjoys writing on her own time, has previously submitted to other Philadelphia-based journals, and enjoys reading and writing. She has lived in Pennsylvania for three years.


If I Ruled the World, Imagine that

If I Ruled the World, Imagine that

Edifice poem in response to If I Ruled the World (Imagine That) by: Nas ft. Lauryn Hill


Life, I wonder 

Will they take us under?


Imagine walking around 

In fancy, flashy dresses,

plenty of people who 

actually wanna deal

with all the messes.


mothers and fathers, more conscious 

of who is talking to their daughters- 

and let’s not forget about the sons, 

who don’t wanna be one with society.


What the heck is this economy?


no one talks about their friends 

who wanna pretend like

they respect their elders, 

and listen to their mother and father,

but they really out here messing with somebody’s daughter. 


these kids might as well

feel like they some kind of foster 

no one around to help 

they’ll only do it when 

they see a whole bunch of wealth 

of course that’s why heads out here moving stealth 


cops harassing for unreasonable reasons 

let’s not forget about MLK, 

What did he say?

“This isn’t the way” I bet he’d say 

He had a dream, everyone got it all wrong, 

so it seems.


Stop worrying,

about the materialistic things,

remember when you and your friends, 

used to play on the playground and swings?


Being a jerk doesn’t show your worth.


It’s a serious crime,

the government wasting their time,

worrying about all the wrong people,

they’re the ones who know their equal.

World War II, this might as well be a sequel. 


Let’s bring peace to all the people. 

Mia Haas is 17 years old and lives in Pennsylvania. She has been expressing herself through poetry since she was 12 years old. She published her first poetry book on her 17th birthday. She enjoys music, playing sports, and loves performing arts.


A Man Named New York

A Man Named New York

What if he leaves 

What if one day he packs his suitcase 

And walks out the door 

I would floored 

The cement dripping down my chest onto the hardwood 

With broken plates scattered around me like a garden 

Flowers from the fight 

The light over the counter 

It’s all planted in my head 

Growing like weeds 

Vines in my hair and all down my arms 

What if he leaves 

Kisses me on the cheek and turns away 

Fading into the rain 

I’m left standing on the sidewalk 

Remembering that none of them ever stay 

Just me and my red raincoat in the blue city 

Slipping into a yellow taxi to take me back to an empty apartment 

The big apple took a big bite out of me 

Sweet, red rotted fruit when you left your key 

What if he leaves 

What if he left it all behind 

The kisses, the fights, the wonderfully wasted time 

He was the thread sewn through the skyscrapers 

Holding me together

He used to be put the city that never sleeps to bed 

But I’m forever awake in Manhattan 

A man named New York bustling in my head. 

Violet Binczewski is a sophomore at Mount Saint Joseph Academy. She is a published author, releasing a book of poetry in 2024 titled “The Ocean and Her Shadows” with Vanguard Press. She won the Patriot’s Pen Essay competition locally in 2019, and her work has been published in Notre Dame’s Preparatory School’s The Hampton Review, as well as Mount Saint Joseph Academy’s The Muse. She is also an editor of The Campanile, the student-generated news site of Mount Saint Joseph Academy. She lives in North Wales, PA with her family, and when she is not writing, she is usually reading or listening to Taylor Swift.




In March, our hearts begin to unfurl.

When the first peony is coaxed out of dark soil,

you will find an endless thing inside. It will be

warm, still soft, still aching. On rainy days,

it will watch girls in lakes, making sure

they are still there to whisper loves me, 

loves me not, the seams of their hearts hung low. 

It is something I have yet to find a name for—

It could be the girl watching the eclipse 

and not knowing what to do with the sun in her hands;

Maybe in summer, it’s everybody coming back as a 

poem, the curvature of the spine and 

hollowed belly redrawn with tenderness, splitting

over the horizon like a promise. Or a secret, like

looking up and crying because you’re so sure

you belong in the sky. Grief, my peony, perhaps 

for the rebirth we cannot have, and in time,

grief for the home we do. 

Rue Huang is a writer from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and Youth Poet Laureate of her city. When she’s not writing journal entries on bus rides, you can find her consuming her body weight in blueberries, playing jazz piano, or running competitively. Her Instagram is @rue.huang.