When he reached for the handle, though, she spotted the tattoo on his left hand again. It snaked down his thumb and forefinger, and it seemed incomplete somehow, like he’d had to leave in the middle of it. “You never told me the story of this,” she said, reaching out and running her fingers along the dark lines etched into his skin. Sorin stilled, watching her trace them. “It is a Fae Marking, a tradition of ours.” “It seems unfinished,” she replied, leaning forward to study it more. “I suppose it does.” “Why?” she asked, her eyes flitting up to his. “Because I do not know how it will look in
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