You mean—before we married—you— He seized her shoulders and shook her. A moment later she reappeared next to Fleur's chair. With a kind of affectionate disdain he watched Pierre crawl over to the unconscious victim and begin to suck back the strength that his master had taken from him. She wished she could corner him and demand, Don't I have any say in who works with us? How could you agree to this? I don't like him! But of course she would not.
How do you think it would feel, to be pulled apart bit by bit when you cannot lose consciousness? To be torn and heal and be What are we? He wept. Her father looked at her for a long time before he said, It can't be true, this awful thing. She was the photograph come to life, the image that must be kept the same forever.
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