“I don’t… know anything about blood magic.” “Of course you do.” The strange creature drew itself up, tucking its hands into its billowing sleeves. “The quicksilver is greedy. You give it whatever it desires. Songs. Jokes. Memories,” it said. “Your mate wishes you to create many thousands of these relics, and yet you bargain for each one that you make. You shave off a piece of yourself for each one. Tell me, how will you know exactly what it is that you’ve forgotten, what you’ve lost, when your mind is riddled full of holes?”
