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January 19 - January 29, 2025
Light will bloom from sky and soil, Skin tarnished by the brand of death …
Because lies are pretty little masks we place on our words to tint the truth into something palatable.
“Mates, Orlaith, are a fairy tale. A tragedy painted with the pretty face of a happily ever after, but at its core, it’s still a fucking tragedy. If you believe everything you read, you’ll be disappointed when you finally step into the real world.”
“That’s how you kiss someone you love, Orlaith. Anything less and they aren’t worthy of your heart or the power to break it. Understood?”
I deserve gentle. I deserve gentle when this man is so boldly destroying me.
I’m in love with a man who’ll never be mine—who’s unavailable in every way, shape, and form—and I’m certain it’s going to ruin me.
“What I want, what I need, and what is right are three entirely different things.”
“Despite how murderous I am,” he mumbles, and there’s a roundness to his words, like they had to veer their course to get here, “you do look ravishing in that color.”
It doesn’t matter who you are, where you’ve come from; it’s in our nature to fall in love with the shackle that binds us.”
“You want a fairy tale?” he spits, waving it in my face. “I’m your fucking fairy tale. I’m nailed to your soul, Orlaith, and believe me when I tell you there is no happily ever after. Not for me, and certainly not for you.”