"It will never fade, Alina. It will only grow worse, no matter how many scarves you hide behind or what lies you tell, no matter how far or how fast you run."
I tried to turn away, but he reached out and took hold of my chin, forcing me to look at him. He was so close I could feel his breath. “There are no others like us, Alina,” he whispered. “And there never will be.”
I lurched away from him, knocking the chair over, nearly losing my balance. I pounded on the door with my iron-bound fists, calling out to Ivan as the Darkling looked on. He didn’t come until the Darkling gave the order. (insp)
The Russian Academy of Magic is a colossal onion-domed structure drifting aimlessly across the surface of Lake Baikal brought to existence using centuries of levitation charms perfected by a group of Russian witches experimenting with portable floating ice rinks. Self-heating fur scarves are all the rage amongst students and professors alike, although they have been known to overheat from time to time, leading to mild cases of heat stroke. When traditional Quidditch games become dull, players would discard their brooms for skates and duke it out on the frozen surface of the lake.
Whilst in Sydney in 1994, a man apparently tries to assassinate Prince Charles. And not a single fuck was given by His Royal Highness.
THEY’RE ALL JUST STARING AND JUDGING
"How rude…this bodyguard just shoved me!"
I want to be this rich and indifferent one day