Tragedy is sewn into your soul, darling. No matter how bright your halo glows, or how high your wings take you, you will always - eventually - fall. The sun was never meant to be yours. One day they will all understand the truth about you; that there is nothing dangerous about beauty... what's dangerous are the teeth beneath, and you are anything but beautiful when you smile. You are fangs and talons and the bitter roar of fiery hatred. You are burning blood, crooked spine, endless thunder. You are the reason they name hurricanes after people, my dear. When all is said and done, your hair will still smell of war and running, and running, and running. Let your beautiful wings beat valiantly against the bars of your cage - it creates such a beautiful melody.
