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Quote by Rachel Hartman

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Seraphina

In this richly imagined fantasy world, Seraphina, a young woman with a unique talent, is the secret conservator of the seraphim, a group of mythical creatures living in harmony with humans. As she navigates the complex political landscape and her own personal journey, she must keep her secret identity hidden while uncovering a dangerous conspiracy that threatens the delicate balance between the two worlds. more

Author

Rachel Hartman
Rachel Hartman

Rachel Hartman, born on July 9, 1972, is an accomplished American author of children's literature. Known for her unique literary style and profound thematic explorations, her works, including the 'Seraphina' series and the 'The DragonKeeper Chronicles', have gained widespread popularity among readers. more

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“- As wiccanfae não merecem estar entre nós...e Tir Alainn não é o lugar delas. - Nesse caso, sugiro que se vá embora. Lucian fixara-a com o olhar até Selena começar a perder mão sobre si mesma, em vias de se descontrolar. - Eu sou Fae - afirmara - e sou Filha da Casa de Gaian, o que implica que também sou wiccanfae. No entanto, se eu sou wiccanfae,o que julga o Senhor do Fogo que é? - Como?! - O fogo é um dos elementos da Mãe Universal. Não é uma dádiva dos Fae. O único motivo pelo qual o senhor o domina é por ser descendente de pelos menos uma pessoa que pertencia à Casa de Gaian. - Mentira - brandira Lucian - Eu sou Fae. - Wiccanfae! - atirara Selena, no mesmo tom. - Quem tem o seu poder não pode ter sangue puro. Quem julgava o senhor que era?...”

“જ્યારે તમે ખરેખર જાતને પ્રાથમિકતા આપવા માંડો છો ત્યારે અમૂકને ગુમાવવા લાગો છો. તમારા ઉપેક્ષિત સ્વ-હિતથી જેટલા લોકોને લાભ મળતો, એ બધા હવે દૂર ચાલ્યા જશે. ધેટ્સ ઓકે. આત્મ-પોષણ માટે કેટલાક પરોપજીવીઓનું દૂર જવું આવશ્યક હોય છે.”

“Lucian took a swallow of the whiskey and licked his lips. “The one brother doesn’t seem too upset about his dead brother, and I’m starting to think this family might be a little bubble off plumb, but I get the address of the shooter and throw Cain in back of the Nash. On the drive over, he’s telling me that he didn’t have anything to do with killing Abel and that he didn’t even help the shooter dump the body—made him do it himself. Took some kind of strange moral stand on that one, I guess.” The old sheriff rolled his eyes. “Well, Ludlow Coontz, the shooter, is this big, dumb-lookin’ bulldogger, two hundred and seventy pounds if he was an ounce, and this is before I had yon man-mountain over there.”