“What would you want?” Nahadoth asked. “What?” “If you could be free.” There was something in his voice that I did not understand. Wistfulness? Yes, and something more. Kindness? Fondness? No, that was impossible. “What would you want for yourself?” The question made my heart ache. I hated him for asking it. It was his fault that my wishes would never come true—his fault, and my parents’, and Dekarta’s, and even Enefa’s. “I’m tired of being what everyone else has made me,” I said. “I want to be myself.” “Don’t be a child.” I looked up, startled and angry, though of course there was nothing to
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