“You're good at love," she said simply, because it seemed to her that it was true. "I'm not so good at love. I'm like a barbed creature. I push everyone I love away.”
“Go safely. Go safely, she thought to him as he left the building and his convoy pounded through the gates. What a silly, empty thing it was to say to anyone, anywhere.”
“No," she said. "Don't fret, it was a small thing. I'm recovered." Which was a lie, for her body was sore still and her heart raw as Hanna's knees. But it was what she hoped would be the truth, eventually.”
“It made Fire so angry, the thought of such a medicine, a violence done to herself to stop her from creating anything like herself. And what was the purpose of these eyes, this impossible face, the softness and the curves of this body, the strength of this mind; what was the point, if none of the men who desired her were to give her any babies? What was the purpose of a woman monster? It came out in a whisper. "What am I for?”
“I will be sad, she said defiantly. I will be sad, and confused, and irritable, very often.”
“I'll always be beautiful. Look at me. I have one hundred and sixty-two bug bites, and has it made me any less beautiful? I'm missing two fingers and I have scars all over, but does any one care? No! It just makes me more interesting. I'll always be like this, stuck in this beautiful form, and you'll have to deal with it."”
“"I must stop wishing for things to happen. Because something will happen eventually, and when it does, I’ll be bound to wish it hadn’t.””
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