Mor

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I lay still, mourning the loss of my most precious gifts—my fae power to heal and my beautiful wings. That seemed the purpose of those foul creatures—ripping magick from every light fae they found as punishment for merely existing. Hatred and a sick kind of satisfaction had reeked from their hollow eyes as they’d tortured me.
The Wraith King (The Rise of Northgall, #1)
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