Hiraeth had ruined her childish fantasy, ruined the version of Myrddin she had constructed in her mind, one where he was benevolent and wise and had written a book meant to save girls like her. Now when she imagined him, she thought only of the crumbling cliffs, the rocks falling out from under her feet. She thought of that drowned room in the basement, of Ianto saying, My father was always his own greatest admirer.
Ah, the immature need to idealize meeting the reality of everyone just being a person.
"Kill your heroes", Effy.
