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“The prince doesn't even know what you are,' she says with a glance toward Oak. 'Barely one of the Folk. Nothing but a manikin, little more than the stock left behind when a changeling is taken, a thing meant to wither and die.' Despite myself, my gaze goes to Oak. To see if he understands. But I cannot read anything but pity on his face. I might be only sticks and snow and hag magic, but at least I did not come from her. I am no one's child. That makes me smile, showing red teeth.” — Holly Black
The prince doesn't even know what you are,' she says with a glance toward Oak. 'Barely one of the Folk. Nothing but a manikin, little more than the stock left behind when a changeling is taken, a thing meant to wither and die.'
Despite myself, my gaze goes to Oak. To see if he understands. But I cannot read anything but pity on his face.
I might be only sticks and snow and hag magic, but at least I did not come from her.
I am no one's child.
That makes me smile, showing red teeth.