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“Grave stopped visiting Mother months ago,”
“Remi’s the one who stole your stash of blood, Sevin.”
“I killed Cedric Wrathblade at the masquerade, and Sevin helped me get rid of the body.”
“You killed him because he was going to hurt me?”
“What is Daemonica?” she asked. “A prestigious secret society for Demons,”
“Happy fucking birthday, Mrs. Silver,”
“It’s never easy to realize that the people who are supposed to protect us are the ones who can create the deepest scars.”
“That means we have to choose one room and stay there, right?”
Rowin as a dark fox, she a gilded rabbit.
“You can either listen or tell me to stop.”
March 24 Happy twenty-second birthday to me. I just read my entry from a year ago and it’s hard to believe how different my life looked then. Heartbroken. Grieving. Feeling stuck in New Orleans. In Grimm Manor. That certainly isn’t the case now. No, now I’m stuck in this cursed estate with people I cannot tell if I hate. With the man who has given me the best sex of my life. A man I still cannot trust, whose secrets I’m still uncovering. After everything that has happened here, one little scar shouldn’t be weighing on me so heavily, but I suppose it’s the evidence that so much has changed in
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March 25 I’m going to Hell today. Ha. Also, you’ll find that I’ve scratched out the previous entry. I don’t hate Rowington Silver. I hate how easily he gets under my skin. How hard it seems to be for him not to keep secrets. How, unfortunately, we have that in common. And, most of all, I hate that the idea of going to Hell with him seems fun. A year ago I would never have written such a ludicrous sentence. I don’t think I know this new version of me. So maybe going to Hell will be a good place to start looking for her. X, Genevieve
“Apulchra adomin, epulchra icapill,”
“Mathilde! Astoria!”

