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accumulating injuries and trauma and hard-fought wisdom, knowing all the while that whatever innocence had survived her parents’ slaughter was being slowly eroded, maturing into the understanding that evil was everywhere, so commonplace it was banal, and now that she knew this, she could never unlearn it.
It was a curious, almost intoxicating feeling, to be so powerful. Because fear was a kind of power, far easier to wield than magic. A well with no bottom.
