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Cowardice has a shelf life.
That’s what Ren always called the uneasy feeling that flutters in your stomach when you’re worried. She always said butterflies are for good things, moths are for situations that could go one way or the other, and wasps are when you know you’re fucked.
“Spark the flames, Ever.” “Ignite the infernos,” I answer automatically. “Ash the embers,”
“I’m Ever Tenebrae, daughter of the slaughtered King Merik Tenebrae, and the last surviving Syphon of my massacred line. Trust me, Spare, I’m not safe anywhere, least of all with you.”
I shouldn’t wish my pain on anyone, but I can’t find it in me to care. Betrayal is a nasty beast; why should I be the only one to wear its scars?
Well, that and a girl can only get caught with butter knives so many times before it starts to affect her reputation.
“I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of commitment, Aeson. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m just not in the right place in life, you know, for a death oath.”
Treasure looks different to every dragon. Some desire gold, others covet jewels or lands, and then there are those that deal in secrets and see the value in gossip.
Death and I have an unspoken agreement. We like to flirt and toy with one another, but we keep it cutesy and never go all the way.
“Cut me. Hurt me. Destroy me. I’ll happily bleed for you, Ever. Every drop is yours already.”
