He let out a ragged sob, and bowed his head against the wood. He told himself he would grow accustomed to the pain. That its edges would eventually wear smooth. That at some point, the pain would fade—it had to fade. It was a wound, and all wounds healed. Skin knitted and scarred, and yet, every time this wound felt fresh. It was not a tear in his flesh. Something at the very heart of him had splintered, frayed, and he was beginning to suspect—to fear—that it would never heal. Never get easier. Never hurt less. If it were a ruined limb he would have cut it off, but there was no faulty limb.
...more
Ooof. This hit me so hard and so early on in the book. I imagine it's the current state of my own emotions, but I grieved with Kell here. Magic was kell and now all that he was as come apart at the seams. Who is Kell without his magic.
