“You want to do this,” the witch whispered into her ear. “His love is only for the worthy.” But she did not want his love. She wanted only for the old woman in the crinkly clothes who smelled of lavender powder to let her go. Let me go.
I
have a secret words
will
never find,
images
I tucked
away.
I
once heard a voice.
It
beckoned me,
singing,
tell
me your secrets,
your
hopes and fears
and
jealousies.
I
whispered back in the
safest
voice I could
reveal,
my
dreams mean nothing
to
you.
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