So Nesta had become a wolf. Armed herself with invisible teeth and claws, and learned to strike faster, deeper, more lethally. Had relished it. But when the time came to put away the wolf, she’d found it had devoured her, too.
That line hits something deep in me. The idea of becoming a wolf to survive — of building teeth and claws out of pain just to make it through — feels all too familiar. I know what it’s like to turn your hurt into armor, to mistake survival for healing. Like Nesta, I learned to fight so hard that I forgot how to stop, and by the time I looked up, the wolf had already devoured me too. There’s something both terrifying and beautiful in that realization — that sometimes the very thing that saves us also destroys parts of who we were.
