Fearful (The Powerless Trilogy #3.5)

by Lauren Roberts

“Of course you would feel that way.” There is a sharp edge to her voice. “You are practically an Ordinary yourself.” “Fine,” the Imperial admits. “I may be next to Ordinary, but you’re the one who is trapped in this room, powerless.”

Damn

I cannot seem to find the right words to describe her. Perhaps there aren’t any.

All evidence of my message slips away. And though I’m not entirely sure I am of sound mind, there is no denying the blank page before me. I might have called a witness into the room if my lungs hadn’t tightened to the point of pain. The foreign feeling startles me, enough so to have a cough rattling in my chest. That is when the chill skitters down my spine. I have felt it before. It’s a sort of tugging at my soul, a presence of something infinitely more. I look up from the page where her name refused to remain. And there Mara stands.

you must think I’m a horrible person.” “No.” Mara eyes me closely. “You are much more complicated than that.”

“Who are you?”

“We have already met.”

“You were in that coach when the bomb erupted,” I blurt. “I know you were.” Every bit of my stifled confusion comes spilling out. “Now you’re here, and I get this tightening in my chest.” My skepticism is met with silence. “I can feel you.” My tone grows urgent. “Like a… like a pair of eyes on me from across a room or a cool breeze on the back of my neck. So tell me who you really are, ...

“Who the hell are you?”

“You’re asking the wrong question.”

“I cannot be contained.” She says this as though it should be obvious. “Not by language or time.” “What the hell are you?” I breathe. “I thought you wanted to see me.” Her face is unreadable. “Why else would you take the Plague?” “For power,” I say sternly. “Or to die knowing you tried everything to get it.” It feels as though the room is spinning around me. “You thought I took the Plague to see you.” My voice is hoarse. “That would mean…”

“Now a foot and a half separates you from Death.”

“Surely you’ve seen a woman before.”

“Yes, I’ve seen a woman before. Just never one that claimed to be Death.”

This is hardly the most interesting part of her day—no, that would have been when she entered the king’s study as Mara and left as Death.

So shes like venom. She has 2 ppl in her. Like, death is her alter ego but she can controll it bc she has accepted it-ish and she has both

“Is that why you’ve always hated her?” Lenny murmurs carefully. Blair sighs. “I envy her, okay? She is free.” The words are hollow. “Besides, she is precisely who my mother wishes I was—without the Ordinary bit, obviously.”

The king’s mind must be reeling behind those green eyes. And Mara must avoid them for the evening. (She finds this objective oddly disappointing.)

Every soul tells a story, and hers is riddled with perseverance.

Pae

The man can’t be any older than Lenny, though it is clear which one of them was blessed with a towering physique—in Mara’s trivial opinion. His broad shoulders lift with each breath, muscles straining beneath his black tunic and vest. Moonlight sharpens his cheekbones and highlights the scar slicing through his lips. A silver streak mars his wavy black hair—and, distantly, Death thinks one of his arms is the size of her leg.

Mak

“She is gone because of you,” the man breathes. And despite the darkness, the grief that consumes him is visible. It dwells in his hollow gaze, his trembling voice. He didn’t just know this woman. He loved her.

Loving is the gravest danger one can put themselves in.

If Death were to wager a guess—and, of course, she will—it would be that Blair Archer is unused to pain. She doesn’t let anyone get close enough to hurt her. That borrowed ability is the only defense she knows, and when that is stripped away, she is weak. Or rather, just as she was meant to be.

The Imperial smiles thinly. “‘We are made this way.’ That is what you said to me about… well, bitches. And I think I understand that now.” He looks at Blair, as though this is his first time truly seeing her. Mara is quietly envious—she has never been on the other side of such a stare. Not on this side of eternity.

Aww :(

“That’s because you’re only relying on your ability,” the Tele drawls lazily. “Real power resides in how you’re perceived. It’s all an act.” “And you?” the Imperial asks slowly. “Are you all an act?” Blair is drenched in moonlight when she lifts her chin. “The act is all I’ve ever known.” Yes, Death decides.

Wait. Now i feel bad for Blair

It is like looking in a mirror.

Death knows the dead—is the dead.