I'm an artist, you know. I have my bad traits, everyone does. I lie, a lot, I do too many drugs, and I cheat without caring who it hurts. Don't like it? Don't fall for me. I'm not going to tell you my name. You can call me Mary, it fits.
The very things I do, if I can be believed.
"He would not speak of her, his mermaid wife. He had sobbed each time he hit her. Then, later, carried her to the rocks, to feed the crabs." - A Feast for Crows pg. 375
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