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“Perhaps because you kiss them below the belt, and hearts are higher up.”
I fathom they’ve been ban— Is that a fucking knife at your throat? Through barely parted lips, I grit out, “Certainly feels like one.”
If you don’t untuck your fucking shirt, I’ll inflict bodily harm on every Selvatin who leers at you. Is that truly what you want?
Insults may roll off our round ears, but they also trickle inside and round other parts of us. I will not be rounded.
As little as possible; as much as necessary.
You forget that you’re one of them, Fallon. One of my precious Crows.
