A Court of Silver Flames

For every Nesta out there— climb the mountain

But he knew she only ran from what she had done, ran from herself.

And Nesta knew then that she had not once in her life been loved by her mother as much as Feyre already loved the boy growing within her

“I can’t bear to be in my head. I can’t bear to hear and see everything, over and over.

“I should have found a way to save us before then. Save Elain and Feyre when we were poor. But I was so angry, and I wanted him to try, to fight for us, but he didn’t, and I would have let us all starve to prove what a wretch he was. It consumed me so much that … that I let Feyre go into that forest and told myself I didn’t care, that she was half-wild, and it didn’t matter, and yet …” She let out a wrenching cry. “I close my eyes and I see her that day she went out to hunt the first time.

She couldn’t quell that relentless, churning anger. Couldn’t stop herself from lashing out before she could be wounded.

She didn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been angry.

She didn’t know how to fix it. How to make any of it right. How to stop being this way.

She had been born wrong. Had been born with claws and fangs and had never been able to keep from using them, never been able to quell the part of her that roared at betrayal, that could hate and love more violently than anyone ever understood.

It wouldn’t fix anything.

Wouldn’t fix her.