More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Good news for both of us, Yellow Bell.” She frowns. “Yellow Bell?” I shrug. “It’s fitting. Flower’s yellow like your hair, and it tricks some people, because it might be pretty on the outside, but it’s pure poison.” Her eyes go dark. “My hair is blonde, not yellow, you incompetent brute.”
“You’re fae, just like me, which means we’re going to have wild, raving urges. Like fighting and fucking. Those two go hand in hand.”
“My tongue is so confused right now.” Lu smirks. “I’ve heard women give you that very same critique.”
That’s the thing with trauma to the body—it shows up instantly. In breaks and bruises, in burns and in blood. But the trauma on the inside, that’s harder to see. It creeps around your mind, poisons you with disquiet. It can hit you out of nowhere, debilitating and ruinous. There are no marks visible for those. None, save the shadows in your eyes.
“So then...you don’t sit awake in your pallet at night, thinking about arguing with me just enough to get our blood heated, and then wrapping those long legs of yours around my hips and fucking me till you see stars?”
do know I’m beautiful. Any beautiful person who says otherwise is lying. Sometimes, it’s to fish for compliments. But mostly, it’s because they have been taught by society—men, in particular—that we have to downplay our beauty, to only let them determine it.
