He really was the spitting image of Nezha—an older, crueler version, an unsettling premonition of everything Nezha was supposed to be. Small wonder she’d so eagerly cast him her loyalty. She’d been attracted to him; she could admit this to herself, now that it didn’t matter. It couldn’t humiliate her anymore. She could concede that not so long ago, she’d wanted to be commanded and owned by someone who looked like Nezha.
Yikes
