“See…we’ve all been wounded.” Goddess, what an understatement. “We’ve all been violated. Me, Adrian, Cory, Renny—hell, even Nicky, and now you. It’s what happens when you’re given great gifts—wonderful, amazing, beautiful gifts. Great buggering git asshole fuckheads always want to steal those gifts for themselves. Being wounded means you held on, that’s all. Being wounded means you can heal. If we live long enough with these gifts, and we’re not wounded, it means we’re probably like Mist and Morana and Sezan and Goshawk and hell, even Titania and Oberon, although I didn’t know either of them more than to give them the best fuck available at court, right? If we’re not capable of being hurt, then we’re not good enough people to deserve the Goddess’s gifts in the first place. If you don’t know that you have something to lose, then maybe you deserve to lose it, and Blessed Father, Holy Mother, Beloved Son, all of us know what we have to lose, because we’ve all lost it at one time or another and none of us wants to feel that pain again…” And then he couldn’t speak anymore, because Bracken, who didn’t want to be touched, had pulled Green into his arms, and every vow Green had made not to weep anymore for his lost freedom and violated faith fell at his feet with his brother’s tears. Both of them held there, still, clenched together so tightly their muscles ached. And they held, and held, and held, until they could breathe freely and look clearly and know that neither of them would be weeping soon again. With an unspoken word, they both pulled back and resumed their human male posture on the couch, the screen.