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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

Even the most powerful can be made to feel powerless.

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

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’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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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 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.

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

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

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 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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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 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.

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.

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

Maybe none of us truly know our own strenght. 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.

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.

People with scars, we know. We see. We understand.” He taps his wilted eye next. “There is hurt past this, yes?” My mouth goes dry. “Yes.” He nods, hand dropping down to hang at his side. “I can heal your body, my lady. But my tonics and salves won’t heal your mind, I’m afraid. It’s up to you to do that.

Porque ese–ese es el mayor deseo de mi corazón. He sido una heredera no deseada, una esposa no deseada, una reina no deseada. Sin embargo, si yo fuera poderosa, nada de eso me volvería a pasar. Me aseguraría de ello.

En lugar de tener miedo de todo el maldito mundo, podría hacer que todo el maldito mundo me tuviera miedo.

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

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

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.

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

You're still the best mistake I can't wait to make.

Las lágrimas caen por mi expresión de madera, escurriéndose de los ojos que parpadean lentamente mientras miro mi reflejo a través de la ventana. Mientras sufro por veinticuatro hebras de mí que han sido arrancadas como los pétalos de una flor.

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.

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

Because the only way to walk a new path is to stop yourself from using the same stumbling stride.

nunca he oído a alguien dejar escapar un grito de dolor como lo hace mi madre. Se arranca de su cuerpo con tanta fuerza que envía escalofríos por mi espina dorsal. Es tan fuerte que ni siquiera puedo escuchar los latidos de mi corazón.

I know what you went through was horrible, but for what it’s worth, I am glad that you’re here in this world with me,” I say quietly. His eyes soften. “Oh, Goldfinch. I would’ve found you in whatever world you were in. In whatever life.

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 don’t think of him at all, nor any of the other violent encounters I’ve had. Because I refuse to give them any more of me than they’ve already taken or that I’ve already given.

Because 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.

Goldfish, podrías conquistar el mundo entero con una sola mirada, si tan solo abrieras los ojos

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.

No, Goldfinch", interrumpe. “Soy bueno contigo. Pero soy exactamente el villano que te advertí que era.

One person's pain doesn't negate another's. Our heartaches are not competition, but the bridge to empathy.

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

Tomaste mi beligerancia y me arrojaste un uniforme a la cara. Te encontraste con el impulso de matar a Osrik y decidiste darle tu espada. Viste todas las celdas de la cárcel que no podían contener a Judd y, en lugar de arrojarlo a otra, dejaste que se quedara con las llaves. Esta vez, encontraste a tu jilguero y la viste salir de su jaula. Ella abrirá los ojos, tal como nos hiciste hacer a los demás.

One person’s pain doesn’t negate another’s. Our heartaches are not competition, but the bridge to empathy.

I’m not ready.” My lips are protective over that truth, pursing together defensively as soon as I’ve said it. I’m not ready. I can’t go there. Because if I go there, then I’ll have to think and process and feel. I don’t want to feel yet. The clock can count down all it wants, but I’m still not going to give in.

I won’t allow another storm to touch Auren. She has been flooded and wrung out, left to take the barrage without shelter. But so long as I’m here, I will be her shelter.

You can’t contemplate or settle or thrive when you’re living like that. I was dead and running, just trying to keep up with survival. Just making it one day. People don’t get that, you know? If they’ve never lived like that. It’s one day. A whole slew of one-day-at-a-times, just getting through, squeezing by. Always running, never expecting anything else. Never having anyone or anything but that running and fighting and dying through it.

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 you’re left, a pile of rubble. But I realize something 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.

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.

Why are you sorry?” I reply. “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.

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.

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.

So I take a deep breath, and then I shrug off my clinging ache. Because we aren’t there anymore. We’re here. And I want to make the most of it.

I do know I’m beautiful. Any beautiful person who says otherwise is lying. Sometimes, it’s to fish for compliments. But mostly, it’s because they have been taught by society—men, in particular—that we have to downplay our beauty, to only let them determine it. To seem humble.

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

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.

You are not weak,” she says firmly. When I start to argue, she goes on. “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.

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

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