[The clever thing about the bathroom lights is that they throw light without radiating heat — a fascinating marvel that Summer would care more about if she weren't currently laid out on the floor, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted as she makes herself keep her breathing steady and slow. With all the lights on bright, it dampens some of the radiance that halos around her; still, even that isn't enough to fully disguise the budding features that crackle across her skin — the lines of gold that crisscross her arms like the suggestion of jewelry, the feather pattern tattooed around her shoulders like the threat of wings not yet burst free. Even her hair suffers from it, the usual rich red a shade paler, the lighter tips shifting from sunset orange to a more definite gold.
What a disappointment you turned out to be. Look at you, halfway to becoming a monster.
Only it's not. It's not it's not it's not, and she knows it, but sometimes knowing is enough and sometimes it isn't. But when the stars come out, she'll know. She'll be sure. She only has to hold on that long.]
Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngh.
[Look at her lying there, the veritable picture of despondency.]
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What a disappointment you turned out to be. Look at you, halfway to becoming a monster.
Only it's not. It's not it's not it's not, and she knows it, but sometimes knowing is enough and sometimes it isn't. But when the stars come out, she'll know. She'll be sure. She only has to hold on that long.]
Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngh.
[Look at her lying there, the veritable picture of despondency.]