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“If we use magic for everything, then life itself will lose its magic.”
“I don’t hate you,” I finally manage, my voice but a breath. He doesn’t turn to look at me. “You should,” he insists. “I’m a monster.” “If you’re a monster, then you’ll be my monster.”
If only, if only—there are so many if onlys, and yet I cannot change the past.
Somehow the fragments of me are stronger than my entire self.
