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To the quiet girls with stories in their heads. To their dreams—and their nightmares.
Nothing is free. Nothing is safe. Magic is love, but also, it’s hate. It comes at a cost. You’re found, and you’re lost. Magic is love, but also, it’s hate.
I was born with the fever, my blood dark as night, With magic unflinching, power and might. My sights, they
were endless, my ambition too vast, So I asked for more blessings, for power, amassed. The Spirit did warn me that nothing comes free, That bargains and barters all come with a fee. Though payment was dear, I paid what it cost.
With blood and with bones and parts of me lost. So mind how you use them, and keep up your guard. Twelve blessings—twelv...
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