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“You are a woman of royal birth. I know your path intimately, and you know mine. I’ve lived through too much to care for the spite of our ancestors, or for the arbitrary nature of politics. My only wish is that you do not suffer as women like us have done, over countless centuries.
“He speaks as a jealous man,” I grumble. “A woman cannot be ruined like a sheaf of spoilt parchment.
“You remind mankind that women are the ones who animate them. Not the hand of the carpenter.”
War forces change.”
She is both things. The terrifying goddess and the uncertain, frightened girl. How can a woman manage to be both? How does she manage it in her head?
this tool that nobody told me I could use. My own voice. My own voice. I cannot just ignore it.
