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“Cardan is waiting for me when I get off the field. I am struck suddenly be his height, by the arrogant sneer he wears like a crown. He would seem like a prince even dressed in rags. Cardan grabs my face, fingers splayed against my neck. His breath is against my cheek. His other hand grabs my hair, winding it in to a rope. 'Do you know what mortal means? It means born to die. It means deserving of death. That's what you are, what defines you- dying. And yet here you stand, determined to oppose me even as you rot away from the inside out, you corrupt, corrosive mortal creature. Tell me how that is. Do you really think you can win against me? Against a prince of Faerie?' I swallow hard. 'No,' I say. His black eyes simmer with rage. 'So you're not completely lacking in some small amount of animal cunning. Good. Now, beg my forgiveness.' I take a step back and tug, trying to wrench free of his grasp. He holds on to my braid, staring down in to my face with hungry eyes and a small, awful smile. Then he opens his hand, letting me stagger free. Individual strands of hair flutter through the air.” — Holly Black