King’s words don’t pierce my heart or hurt—they’re a given. I’d throw Perse to the wolves to save Dove, so I can’t blame him for feeling that way about me. I’m not a good person, and neither are these people, but the only difference between them and me is I don’t pretend to be. I’m a fucking menace, evil and fucking reckless. I can live with that. King can’t. He has to pretend that his precious Persephone is gold. She’s not. She’s fucking stained metal.
