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“Noticed,” she said, “is very different from seen.”
But there was a type of terror that didn’t care about reality, a fear that lived in secret places, and it clawed at her soft insides. It clawed harder at night, which was another thing she hated.
I can hear the blood in your veins, and I can taste the flavor of your magic on my tongue, and I could call them both to me in the space between one breath and the next.”
She had relearned who she was when there was no one who had the power to force her to be someone else, and then she had decided who she wanted to be.
