Wished someone would cut the damned thing from her chest. Wished someone would smother the voice that whispered of every horrible thing she had ever done, every awful thought she’d had, every person she’d failed. She had been born wrong. Had been born with claws and fangs and had never been able to keep from using them, never been able to quell the part of her that roared at betrayal, that could hate and love more violently than anyone ever understood. Elain had been the only one who perhaps grasped it, but now her sister loathed her. She didn’t know how to fix it. How to make any of it right.
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Living with that kind of self-hatred — the kind that eats at you because you can’t quite understand why you are the way you are — drags you into a darkness that feels endless. Nesta embodies that pain so vividly it almost hurts to read. And as someone who sees so much of myself in her, I can only hope she finds the thing that finally quiets the storm inside her. That moment of clarity where she begins to not just understand herself, but accept and even love the parts she once feared — the shadows, the sharp edges, all of it.
