“Books don’t appear as normal people to their authors. Characters are made of something more to the one who created them. They’re made of our dreams, our scars, slivers stuck beneath our skin. You’re not meant to meet someone like that. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s talking to the most alive person she’ll ever meet. The kind of alive you don’t find in real life. No one, no great love or her own flesh and blood, will ever come close. She’ll remember that glint in his eyes, the twist of his chin, a casual turn of phrase. She’ll hold it quietly in her mind like a fire. A fire that will
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