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We have lived the same life. But when Bitterblue looks in her mirror, she sees herself, and when I look in mine, I’m not sure which of us I see.
Sometimes I wish I had stronger barriers against whatever she’s feeling. I’m porous. Her feelings invade mine and I disappear. Does this happen to other people?
The nickname brought a rush of warmth to my neck and ears. All those letters in the middle of habpva make people linger on the word—on me—in a way that feels like I’m being touched, or something.
