She was the same little girl who held the trapped, wounded rabbit in her arms, the one who sang mournful songs to the stars. Yet she was also now this woman of many faces—this eternal mystery, a bundle of contradictions and big, deep feelings—an object of everyone’s desire who belonged to no one but herself. Or at least, she used to belong to no one. Now she belonged to me. All of Aristelle could gaze upon my Little Flame for all I cared, but just one touch, and I’d make sure they fucking burned.
