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Exhaustion is a chain locked around my ankles, cuffed over my wrists, draped around my shoulders.
There’s something about having to lift your skirts and squat in the snow that really drags a girl down.
The problem with truths is that they’re like spices. Add a little, and it can enrich things, let you experience more layers. But if you pour out too much, it becomes unpalatable.
“I can’t wait to see the rest of you. When you let it go, when you finally let that out, your fury is going to light up the spirit you’ve shadowed.” He looks like someone who’s won, boasting in superiority. “I hope you burn so bright that you scorch your Golden King down to ash.”
Did I think he was beautiful before? I take it all back. He’s an ugly bastard.
“Sometimes,” he murmurs, “things need first to be ruined in order to then be remade.”
He knows. He kissed me. He knows. He kissed me. He knows what I did, and yet … he still kissed me.
“And they say women are the weaker sex. Men are only as strong as those sensitive dangly bits between their legs.”
“You’re weaker than I thought.” I glare at him. “Maybe it’s all the blood I’m losing from my women’s troubles.” Judd laughs. “I had to think quick on my feet. It was the best I could do.”
“Commander, I must insist that you don’t touch King Midas’s favored.” “I must insist that you shut the fuck up,” Osrik drawls.
“King Midas, I’d say it was a pleasure if I wanted to lie, but it seems I can’t be bothered today.”
