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What is a mermaid but a woman half-drowned, What a selkie but an unwilling wife, What a tale but a sea-net, snatching up both From the gentle tumult of dark waves?
“I will love you to ruination,” the Fairy King said, brushing a strand of golden hair from my cheek. “Yours or mine?” I asked. The Fairy King did not answer.
“It’s not enough. You are being rude. You’re being mean. It’s not—no one believed Angharad, either. And because no one believed her, the Fairy King was free to take her.”
She wasn’t afraid of dying, not really. It was the ultimate act of flight, an escape artist’s tour de force.
“I love you,” Preston said, voice wavering. “I’m so sorry it’s ruined us both.”
“Well,” Effy said at last, a bit dizzily, “when things are meant to rot, they will.”
I was a woman when it was convenient to blame me, and a girl when they wanted to use me.
