What sort of things do you paint?” My question was soft as the snow falling past us. Ressina smiled slightly. “The things that need telling.
She’d never thought her minor in theater would come in handy.
Of the blade that had slain that which was unkillable.
Chin up, Quinlan! Let’s see you do that fancy trick where you somehow look down your nose at people a foot taller than you.
And like any maltreated animal, she bit anyone who came near. Good thing he liked being bitten.
No wonder she didn’t wish to speak to anyone about it – didn’t wish to bear witness on our behalf. It had been mere seconds for us while she’d gone under. I had never asked either of my sisters how long it had been for them inside that Cauldron.
Had I not immediately spied Nesta curled in an armchair, a book on her knees, looking – for once – very un-Nesta-like. Casual. Perhaps relaxed.
Everything I am is yours.
Her father had died for her, with love in his heart, and Nesta held love in her own heart as she pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he’d tried to bring into the world.
That’s the key isn’t it? To know the darkness will always remain, but how you choose to face it, handle it... that’s the important part. To not let it consume. To focus upon the good things that fill you with wonder.
She looked to the river. “I never realized it,” she murmured. “That you and I are mirrors.
And soul to soul with the friend whom she had not forgotten, the friend who had not forgotten her, even in death, Bryce made the Drop.
Everyone deserves happiness. The road there isn’t easy. It’s long, and hard, and often traveled utterly blind. But you keep going.
Emerging from her cocoon of grief and rage, this new Nesta might very well send entire courts to their knees. Kingdoms.
The music was no longer the most beautiful thing in existence. He was.
Nesta fought every step of the way. She did not make it easy for them. She clawed and kicked and bucked. And it was not enough. And we were not enough to save her.
It’s nice to hear that sometimes things work out for good people.
I’m going to think of that look on your face.” He took another step down the hall. “I’m always thinking of that look on your face.
Had she done so many unworthy things that her scant contribution earned that much praise?
You are. I’ve seen it – I’ve seen what you can do when you are willing to fight for the people you love. Why not apply that same bravery and loyalty to yourself? Don’t say you don’t deserve it.
We all bear scars, Dorian. Mine just happen to be more visible than most.