“Yesenia.” Vada cupped my face between her cold and wrinkled hands. Her palms were softer than mine. They always had been. Vada had never planted her own herbs or harvested them. “We will not survive if we are not docile.” “Is survival worth it, then?” I asked. “When you have someone to live for, no sacrifice is too great,” she’d said. But then we had gone on to give up our power, our autonomy, our lives, and we had lost those we loved anyway. “You cannot believe that you have true power just because you sit upon a throne and wear a crown,” said Ravena. “Adrian treats me as his equal,” I said.
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