Only two people knew this side of her—herself, and the one who had created it; the one who made her secretly loathe herself, made her feel used and dirty and broken—like tarnished scraps of silver. These night-time reminders made her too aware that like those silver scraps, even if she were somehow melded into something whole, she would be new—never the same as she once was. Never unbroken.
Shona Moyce, Blood's Veil
broken