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No, my mother’s voice insisted. You are your looks, and nothing else. Anything not related to that is a waste of time. No one cares.
“Cover those freckles, Lily,” my mom said. “Men don’t like imperfections.”
I was lining up to be the next George R. R. Martin.
Pffft
He’d read my books? He liked them? Oh God, I’d put him in that series. He was my main character’s asshole betrothed. I’d killed him off three years ago.
LMAO
