Emory’s hand shook. When he spoke, his voice was strange—slippery. “There once was a girl,” he said, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King, a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same…” He did not have to say the rest. I knew it by heart. “The girl, the King…” I breathed. The Nightmare’s voice burned through my mind. And the monster they became.
