ever become so dull.”
But Dorian’s amusement faded away. “I
accept your apology.” He held her gaze,
letting her see the truth in it.
It seemed answer enough for her. Answer,
and somehow the final clue to what she
sought.
Her golden eyes guttered. “You’re
leaving,” she breathed. “Tomorrow.”
He didn’t bother to lie. “Yes.”
It was time. She had faced her
grandmother, had challenged what she’d
created. It was time for him to do the same.
He didn’t need Damaris’s confirming warmth
or the spirits of the dead to tell him that.
“How?”
“You witches have brooms and wyverns.
I’ve learned to make my own wings.”
For a few breaths, she said nothing. Then
she lowered her knees, twisting to face him
lily
(lily)
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