Camilla Bruce

I never was so blind, never wanted him for being dangerous; I already had a dangerous lover—already knew the taste of sin.

Her skin was like milk, mine marred by freckles, but a sprinkle of pigments makes no bad girl, of course, it runs deeper than that, runs in the blood. Some of us are just born wrong.

Faeries are neither alien nor truly inhuman, though. They are just no longer alive.