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I was no more than a few days old when I’d been found abandoned before that cursed arch in a wicker basket, a single black rose upon my chest. No one knew who’d left me there, but every villager speculated that, whoever they were, they must have hoped the woods would eat me, as well.
Emotions I was forced to keep hidden for fear of looking possessed by evil, as girls were often perceived when they felt too much.
How tragic that a woman’s worth equated to the depth of a man’s pockets.
Our lives, so entwined with pain and sadness, made crying seem pointless.
“You may have repulsive eating habits, but I’ll admit, you’re terrifyingly cute,” I spoke on the cusp of a whisper. “Adorrifying. And chaotic. I think I’ll name you Raivox.”
“What wicked spells you weave, little witch.”
Zevander frowned back at him. “You so much as breathe across her neck, and I will take pleasure in skewering your skull before I set it aflame.”
“You don’t understand. You will never understand. Because you can’t.” She swiped at her cheek, as though embarrassed by her tears. “I have the power to take every sad day you’ve ever had and turn them into nothing more than a distant dream for you. Yet, I cannot share my pain with you. I cannot show you what horrible things live inside me. Things I have to live with—” Lips slammed shut, she swallowed hard, but the quiver in her chin belied her efforts to fight back the emotions. “But since you’ve been here, I feel less burdened by them. So, do not ask me to do this. I cannot be the one to see
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