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“I rub a hand over my face. By the fire, a spindly, insectile faerie stirs a big pot. "You want soup, mortal? " I shake my head. "You want to be soup? " It asks hopefully.” — Holly Black
I rub a hand over my face. By the fire, a spindly, insectile faerie stirs a big pot. "You want soup, mortal? "
I shake my head.
"You want to be soup? " It asks hopefully.