“Do you ever glow?” “Once,” he said, hanging his head in his hands again, his muscles coiled like he was readying for battle. “When I was eighteen. I went to a brown witch apothecary in Murreneir. I thought I was going to die and she gave me the potion . . . poison,” he corrected, dragging his hands down his face. He looked so raw in that moment, so unlike the rigid posture and fine clothes he normally disguised himself
