[ He likes the look of Brandon's pet, the slow stroking motions. It leaves him discontent to remain where he is, and he crosses the gap between them to be back at Hekate's side. She wraps her arm around his shoulders without bothering to look down into his face. They are both an odd little paradox of weakness and will. Hekate's unbreakable belief in herself, bolstered by Ivor's unending devotion to her. She refuses to succumb to the clan, to the witches, to the House, the only place she will accept is at the crown.
And that is what makes her what she is: ]
We are Morrisons.
[ Ivor has a hoarse voice, dry and disused and tight. ]
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And that is what makes her what she is: ]
We are Morrisons.
[ Ivor has a hoarse voice, dry and disused and tight. ]