Glow The Plated Prisoner Quotes

Find me in another life. Find me in them all.

One person’s pain doesn’t negate another’s. Our heartaches are not competition, but the bridge to empathy. So that we can look at one another and know that on some level, we understand.

I need you all to tuck your dicks in for a second and try to think rationally. Like a woman.

You don’t have to be cruel to be strong. You don’t have to be mean to seem brave. You don’t have to look down on others in order to stand tall. Having emotions does not mean you’re weak. It means you’re smart enough to let yourself feel.

You never notice what’s keeping you balanced until you realize you’re not standing straight anymore.

No, Goldfinch,” he interrupts. “I’m good to you. But I am every bit the villain that I warned you I was.

I want to be so strong that I never have to fear anyone else in this world. That if I need to, I can make them all fear me.

If you’re a villain...then I’ll be a villain with you.

With the right person, there is power when you kneel. There is adoration with submission. There is balance with control.

Oh, Goldfinch, I’d follow you to the end of the world and tip right off the edge, all because of a crook of your finger.

Having emotions does not mean you’re weak. It means you’re smart enough to let yourself feel.

That’s the thing with trauma to the body—it shows up instantly. In breaks and bruises, in burns and in blood. But the trauma on the inside, that’s harder to see. It creeps around your mind, poisons you with disquiet. It can hit you out of nowhere, debilitating and ruinous. There are no marks visible for those. None, save the shadows in your eyes.

Maybe none of us truly know our own strength. Not until the world has hacked away at us. But the point is, we aren’t strong because of our trauma. We were always strong to begin with. We just needed to figure it out for ourselves.

Even the most powerful can be made to feel powerless.

You’re mine, Auren. As wholly as I am yours. If there’s something you crave, if there’s some freedom you want to try the taste of, then you will do it, and I will be right there with you. Watching you devour your wants. And then I will devour you.

I’ll be the villain for you. He is the epitome of death and revenge. The personification of rage. He destroys everything and everyone in his vicinity without glance or thought, and through the chaos, through the massacre, I revel in it.

You are the worst bad mistake I’m glad I never made,” she hisses. “And you’re still the best mistake I can’t wait to make,” I retort with a smirk.

I’ve always been treated like treasure, but with Slade, I’m simply treasured.

Because that’s what he always does for me. He finds every aching part and helps me work through it. Even when I don’t want to.

I’ll find you, Goldfinch. I swear to you. Now fly.

We’ve all got a little rotten in us, and I wouldn’t change that for anything. It’s how we’ve survived.

I refuse to give them any more of me than they've already taken or that I've already given. They had my body, but so what? Hundreds of others can claim the same. However, they will not have my mind. I won't give it to them.

She stares at me like I’m her lifeline. Like I’m her only hope of not being torn to shreds. But I will always ground her. I will always remind her of who she is. Because I see her. I always fucking have.

The world can judge us all it wants, doesn't mean we have to give a shit.

A life lived in shades of gold casts its own sort of shadow.

I’ll be the villain for you. Not to you.

Oh, Goldfinch. I would’ve found you in whatever world you were in. In whatever life.” My lips tip up in a soft smile, because I believe him. “You would’ve found me in them all.

Don’t do this,” I grit out. To her, to the gods. Not now. Not after everything. Not when I just fucking got her.

I don't feel regret or guilt, I admit. I'm just fucking angry. Angry that I let it go on that long, that I let him take so much. I'm angry at everyone who ever wronged me or used me. And I'm angry that I didn't figure out how to save myself sooner.

But the trauma on the inside, that’s harder to see. It creeps around your mind, poisons you with disquiet. It can hit you out of nowhere, debilitating and ruinous. There are no marks visible for those. None, save the shadows in your eyes.

I need to find her. Need to be on the right side of the stars and in the same world where she exists.

People rarely change their opinions when they’re argued with. They only tend to listen to the voices of those they already agree with.

If they want to make me a villain, then I'll fucking be one.

One person’s pain doesn’t negate another’s. Our heartaches are not competition, but the bridge to empathy. So that we can look at one another and know that on some level, we understand. That’s one beautiful thing about grief, I think. That sometimes, we can find someone in the world to look at from the other side of the bridge of our torments and know that we are not alone.

I think I'm starting to learn that you're just as unhinged as some of the Orean rumors have claimed." His devilish smirk only grows. "Oh, love, I'm worse.

My prioroties have changed. And I will let the world corrode and crumble in order to protect her.

Peonies for good health. A willow branch for luck. Cotton stems for prosperity. The fleshy leaf of a jade to bring harmony. And a lotus for resilience.

She shakes her head, gently tipping my chin up. “No, Slade. Not you. You don’t break things. You protect them.

I told him I wanted everything, and when you ask for everything from a person, you don’t get to pick and choose. You take them as they are.

Listen,” she whispers. So I do. I thread my fingers through her own, and I listen. But my song of home doesn’t come from the sun. Mine comes from her.

Goldfinch. I would’ve found you in whatever world you were in. In whatever life.

One person’s pain doesn’t negate another’s. Our heartaches

That night marked an end for me and for my ribbons. Yet it was an ending I badly needed. I needed to be forced to stand on my own two feet, without anything to catch me. I only wish they could have been spared that same journey. But I needed to be cut down to finally rise up on my own like a phoenix from the ashes.

Can you hear it?” she whispers. I pause, ears straining, but all I hear are faint sounds from the city below and the constant draw of the waterfall at the base of the mountain. “Hear what?” And she smiles, through the tears dried on her cheeks, through the glassiness of her eyes. The sight is so damn beautiful that it’s hard to breathe. “The sun,” Auren answers quietly, tone filled with a tentative, innocent joy. One that you’re afraid of saying too loud in case it breaks. “She’s singing to me.” Emotion clogs in my throat as I watch her tip her head back again. Watch her eyes close. I draw a knuckle down her soft cheek. “And what does she sing, Goldfinch?” I murmur. Her smile breaks through like the sunlight above us. “The song of home,” she says. “The sun is singing the song of home.” My chest swells, and when she reaches a hand up and tugs at my arm, I lie back with her, situating until we’re arm to arm, leg to leg. “Listen,” she whispers. So I do. I thread my fingers through her own, and I listen. But my song of home doesn’t come from the sun. Mine comes from her.

Our heartaches are not competition, but the bridge to empathy. So that we can look at one another and know that on some level, we understand. That’s one beautiful thing about grief, I think. That sometimes, we can find someone in the world to look at from the other side of the bridge of our torments and know that we are not alone.

I will be a monster if it means I can destroy one.

Oh, Goldfinch. I would've found you in a whatever world you were in. In whatever life.

This is it, isn't it?" I ask quitely, feeling so soft and secure in his arms. "This is real love.

You are my equal. My female. My partner. But when it comes to your pussy, I'm in charge.

feeling gold murdery yet?” she asks. “Have the urge to make gold start pissing down the walls?” “Umm…no.” “See? You’re doing great.

I may be empty, but I am not alone. And that, at least, is something.

Because that’s what men did. They took and they hurt and no one ever stopped them.

Perhaps things are born from trauma. An anger. A clarity.

Lu just shrugs. “We’ve all got a little rotten in us, and I wouldn’t change that for anything. It’s how we’ve survived.

When it comes to those I'm loyal to, I'm a fierce fucker.

Let him silence me. Let him lead me. Let him fool me. Let him cage me. Let him hurt me. I let him drug me and hold me against that cold wall, let him take another part of me that I’ll never get back.

That's the thing with trauma to the body-it shows up instantly. In the breaks and bruises, in the burns and in blood. But the trauma on the inside, that's harder to see. It creeps around in your mind, poisons you with disquiet. It can hit you out of nowhere, debilitating and ruinous. There are no marks visible for those. None, save the shadows in your eyes.

You are good, Slade. Every single day, I am proud of you. And it’s not because of these spikes on your arms or the magic in your veins. It’s not for the blood you are born from or the status you will one day have.” She drops a hand and places it on my chest, right over my racing heart. “I am proud of you for this. Not for what you can do, but for who I know you will be.” “Who will I be?” She leans forward and kisses my forehead, combing my damp hair away from my face. “You will be completely yourself. And you will be proud.

I think passivity is often mistaken for weakness. Really, it’s just a different way to cope. To survive. The safest way I learned to react to situations was to endure. To let things blow over. To please. To peace keep.

You’re gorgeous when you’re unhinged,’ I tell her.

When you hit rock bottom, you feel it. You break down, walls crumbling until you’re free-falling. The feelings that you tried to run from suddenly rush up around you in an unstoppable force, the gravity of your thoughts now nothing but a punishing plunge. When you slam into the bottom, that landing jolts you all the way to your very soul. You hit hard, and it cracks the very foundation of the world. The ground fragments beneath you, lines stretching far and wide. And then your left, a pile of rubble. But I realize some thing as I lie here, surrounded by the destruction of my plummet. These cracks that have spread out from my caustic landing, they’re not evidence of my ruination. They’re paths. Each jagged line leads from me and then diverts away, showing me all the different ways I could go from here.

I can choose to stay stagnant here, at the bottom of the cliff, broken and unmoving. I can rage, I can wallow, I can blame, I can hide. I can let the severed parts of me sever all the rest. Or I can get up, dust myself off, and look back up. I can find a path that ensures I’ll never fall again, ensures that I don’t lose any more parts of myself. All I have to do is turn and follow my feet, one step at a time. So that’s what I’ll do.

You’ve always had control. You just need to learn how to wield it. I think you’re scared. I think you’re holding yourself back, and that’s why your gold isn’t coming – because you’re blocking it.

I’m still no winged butterfly, but I do feel as if I’ve been reborn. My metamorphosis has been twenty years in the making, but I’m ready to be what I’m supposed to be. My old life had to end, had to be cut away, burned down to nothing but gilded ashes. And I can either remain stagnant in these ashes or I can root down into them and sprout up anew. I can thrive.

Anger can do a lot of things,” he goes on, thumbing over the sharp tips of his spikes. “It can drag you down, make you bitter. But if you wield it another way, it can be a stepping stone for your determination.

Even the most powerful people can be made to feel powerless. Finding your strength even when you believe you have none is what makes you a true force. Nobody made you into what you are, my lady. You were always strong. You just had to prove it to yourself.

Why are you keeping him alive?” “Because I want to,” he replies, making something scrape down my gut. Slade watches me like he wants me to see every word he’s saying, to envision his every intention. “I want you to understand something, Goldfinch. I am not good. I will rot every person in my way, will bring a blight to every corner of the world if I have to.” I shake my head. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re good. You’re—” “No, Goldfinch,” he interrupts. “I’m good to you. But I am every bit the villain that I warned you I was.

But body responses don’t equal consent.

You didn’t fail me. That was on me. For so many years. Would it have been easier and more painless for me if you’d shown up? Yes. But the truth of the matter is, I needed that final straw. I don’t regret it, because I needed to snap. I needed to find my edge.

I had to be the one to save myself.

I’m just fucking angry. Angry that I let it go on that long, that I let him take so much. I’m angry at everyone who ever wronged me or used me. And I’m angry that I didn’t figure out how to save myself sooner. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all this inside me, but I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not trodden with guilt or regret. All I feel is anger.

I’ve always been more passive in life. I think passivity is often mistaken for weakness. Really, it’s just a different way to cope. To survive. The safest way I learned to react to situations was to endure. To let things blow over. To please. To peace keep. To constantly regulate my own reactions and thoughts and emotions so that the tyrant could be appeased into a lesser form of abuse. So from an early age, I learned that my anger wasn’t safe. Then, I learned that it was irrational. Then, it was just plain wrong. I was always in the wrong. Fuck that.

Can you hear it?” she whispers. I pause, ears straining, but all I hear are faint sounds from the city below and the constant draw of the waterfall at the base of the mountain. “Hear what?” And she smiles, through the tears dried on her cheeks, through the glassiness or her eyes. The sight is so damn beautiful that it’s hard to breathe. “The sun,” Auren answers quietly, tone filled with a tentative, innocent joy. One that you’re afraid of saying too loud in case it breaks. “She’s singing to me.” Emotion clogs in my throat as I watch her tip her head back again. Watch her eyes close. I draw a knuckle down her soft cheek. “And what does she sing, Goldfinch?” I murmur. Her smile breaks through like the sunlight above us. “The song of home,” she says. “The sun is singing the song of home.” My chest swells, and when she reaches a hand up and tugs at my arm, I lie back with her, situating until we’re arm to arm, leg to leg. “Listen,” she whispers. So I do. I thread my fingers through her own, and I listen. But my song of home doesn’t come from the sun. Mine comes from her.

I stop in my tracks when I see her. She didn’t just come up to the roof. No, she climbed up onto one of the turrets as well. She’s there, lying against the steepled shingles, her golden skin glowing against the black stone that surrounds her. For a moment, all I can do is watch. She looks like a sunlit goddess, gleaming in the light that’s been sheltered from her, soaking up the rays as if the sun is blessed to shine on her.

She’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling, pink dots cropped up on her cheeks, and for some reason, my wall of irritation suddenly cracks, and out leaks the realization that she’s really fucking beautiful.

Nobody made you into what you are, my lady. You were always strong. You just had to prove it to yourself.

The sun,” Auren answers quietly, tone filled with a tentative, innocent joy. One that you’re afraid of saying too loud in case it breaks. “She’s singing to me.

Yet I went to Slade with my eyes wide open. I told him I wanted everything, and when you ask for everything from a person, you don’t get to pick and choose. You take them as they are.

What...what is that?” I ask breathlessly. There’s an exhale hewn from the depths of his lungs. “This is where I tore a rip into the world.

You lost the privilege of your hands, my lady.

sexed me into unconsciousness

They took Auren. They fucking took her!

He came. He came for me.

His beg bleeds through the cracks of his voice. Stabs straight through my heart.

This is the Bridge of Lemuria.

The fae are returning. And this time, Orea will be ours.

I won’t allow another storm to touch Auren.

The verdict is immediate execution.

And my fucking power to get to her is... Gone.

But my song of home doesn’t come from the sun. Mine comes from her.

Says the king to the fae female who’s conquered him completely.

She must fuck like a goddess and squirt out gold cum.

I want to get to that one day so desperately.

Maybe none of us truly know our own strength. Not until the world has hacked away at us. But the point is, we aren’t strong because of our trauma. We were always strong to begin with. We just needed to figure it out for ourselves

When we fuck, it’ll happen because you want it to happen.

Good fucking girl.

No, baby. Not a monster. A fae.

Oh, Goldfinch, I’d follow you to the end of the world and tip right off the edge,

You’re going to be the queen who saves Seventh Kingdom.

Told Auren about her.