It has to be a trap.
Ruin would never willingly let me go. He certainly wouldn't orchestrate
demise.
I have questions--a hundred of them--but he'd all but shooed me out of his bedroom, impatient and dismissive, the door slamming shut the moment I crossed the threshold, even though I knew he hadn't moved from the couch.
The curiosity started as a small, glorious burn in my chest. Now I can't put it out. I went there to find his weakness and discovered instead that I hadn't even grazed the surface of what he truly is.
I've never let myself sit with it before. What Oberon said. What Samara admitted. Strange things exist in our world--my being alive is proof enough of that--but there's a difference between the supernatural brushing against human lives and actually siring a child with one.
My fingers trace the dark, intricate lines across my wrist, my bottom lip caught between my teeth.
