“My hand!” he wailed. “I really hurt it. Look at it. I see bone!” That last sentence seemed to echo mournfully throughout the street.
Ash paused. I could see on their face that they had to shoot down about four responses to settle on a suitably gentle one. “It– It’s just a scrape, [March.]”

I was about to fade… Until I saw the hypocrisy. Until I saw the modified explanations of events and motives. Until a fucking self-proclaimed Unseelie Fae King stood in front of my bedroom door and called me delusional.