Saying those words made a sharp, quick panic rise up in her, an aching pain that had her throat closing. “You left me,” she repeated. Maybe it was only out of blind terror at the abyss opening up again around her, but she whispered, “I have no one left. No one.
Sarah J. Maas, Heir of Fire
celaena-sardothien, depression, pg276, rowan-whitethorn