Maybe the girl would get strong enough to withstand an ink exchange with one of the chosen faeries. If not, he could always give her to one of the weaker fey. It seemed a shame to waste a lovely broken toy.
What does it mean when nightmares dream of peace? When shadows wish for light?
We are what we are, neither a good or as bad as others paint us. And what we are doesn't change how truly we feel, only how free we are to follow those feelings.
And sometimes you meet someone who doesn't see you any differently if you tell them. That is everything.
-"You won't like me if I'm cruel." -"I don't like you now." -"We don't lie." -"I'm mortal, Irial. I can lie all I want to.
I'm still yours, though. That won't ever change, Shadow Girl.
He looked good, like sin in a suit.
No man would, I think, exchange his existence with any other man, however fortunate. We had as lief not be, as not be ourselves.
Talking won't change it. But sometimes it was what she wanted most, to tell someone; often, though, she just wanted to escape those horrid feelings, to escape herself, so there was no pain, no fear, no ugliness.
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