Her zaman sizi izleyen gözler ve sizi kuşatan o ses. Uykuda ya da uyanık, çalışırken ya da yemek yerken, içeride ya da dışarıda, banyoda ya da yatakta; kaçış yoktu. Kafatasınızın içindeki birkaç santimetreküp dışında hiçbir şey size ait değildi.
Always the eyes watching you and the voice enveloping you. Asleep or awake, working or eating, indoors or out of doors, in the bath or in bed-no escape. Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimetres inside your skull.
I have problems of my own as well, of course; we all have our crosses to bear, as they say. I am very old, and something inside me is burning out and fading away, to the point of disappearing entirely.
Her çiçeğin bir mevsimi, her kitabın bir zamanı vardır. Haziranın tadını yeni hikâyelerle çıkarın.
I felt that I was inside Yuichi's nightmare, and that If I stayed too long I, too, would become a part of it, destined to be snuffed out in the gloom.
Like the fat was something apart from me, a temporary encumbrance around my inner, thinner self. The “true me” was somewhere inside, buried under all that flab. To this day I’m still trying to dig him out.
Sure, I felt weak and nauseous pretty much all the time; my skin was cracked and washed out; and even resting, my heart fluttered in uneven bursts, like a stray pigeon trapped inside my chest. But I was dropping weight so fast I didn’t care, each successful weigh-in encouraging me to keep going, push harder, embrace the hunger. Feel the burn. Those words became my mantra, and I lived by them.
She did it
The Wyrdmarks faded into the rocky ground as the sun rose over
Endovier.
Rowan was on his knees before Aelin, readying for her last breaths,
for the end that he hoped would somehow take him, too.
He’d make it his end. When she went, he’d go.
But then he’d felt it. As the sun rose, he’d felt it, that surge down the
frayed mating bond.
A blast of heat and light that welded the broken strands.
He didn’t dare to breathe. To hope.
Even as Aelin collapsed to her knees where the Wyrdmarks had been.
Rowan was instantly there, reaching for her limp body.
A heartbeat echoed in his ears, into his own soul.
And that was her chest, rising and falling. And those were her eyes,
opening slowly.
The scent of Dorian’s and Chaol’s tears replaced the salt of Endovier
as Aelin stared up at Rowan and smiled.
Rowan held her to his chest and wept in the light of the rising sun.
A weak hand landed on his back, running over the tattoo he’d inked.
As if tracing the symbols he’d hidden there, in a desperate, wild hope. “I
came back,” she rasped.
She was warm, but … cold, somehow. A stranger in her own body.
Aelin sat up, groaning at the ache along her bones.
“What happened?” Dorian asked, held upright by the arm Chaol had
around his waist.
Aelin cupped her palms before her. A small lick of flame appeared
within them.
Nothing more.
She looked at Rowan, then Chaol, and Dorian, their faces so haggard
in the rising light of day.
“It’s gone,” she said quietly. “The power.” She turned her hands, the
