Then I started to think on things and I got mad. Sure, one could say I didn’t want to go back to Pol and endure a life with him, walking on eggshells, taking my beatings whenever whatever was in his head would snap and he’d lose it. Then planning my escape and escaping, only to be found, beaten, dragged back and starting the process all over again and doing all this not-very-fun stuff until the day I died. That didn’t work for me. As in really didn’t work. But I’d been transported by a freaking witch to a freaking parallel universe by a man grieving his wife who was my twin. Then he got me,
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