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“I think of the note I found, of the press of his nibbed pen hard enough to send flecks of ink spattering as he wrote my name. Hard enough to dig through the page, maybe to scar the desk beneath. If that's what he did to the paper, I shudder to think what he wants to do to me.” — Holly Black
I think of the note I found, of the press of his nibbed pen hard enough to send flecks of ink spattering as he wrote my name. Hard enough to dig through the page, maybe to scar the desk beneath.
If that's what he did to the paper, I shudder to think what he wants to do to me.