“As Lothaire lifted the lid with a sense of dread, Nïx murmured, “Hint: it’s the middle one.”
Elizabeth’s fragile finger.Seeing it severed like this brought on a visceral reaction—pain shooting through his own hand, radiating throughout his regenerated heart. He closed the lid with a swallow, sentimentally pocketing the package.
“You gave her your heart, and she gave you the bird.” Nïx sighed. “Songs will be written about this.”