“Since when did you have street smarts?” Imara asked. “Since I was a street orphan,” Teorin shot back, clearly insulted by the question. “You don’t necessarily get book smarts with that walk of life.” “I apologize,” Imara said as they quickly moved back towards the outskirts of the Gape. “I guess you just don’t have that look.” Teorin had a delicateness to him that contrasted the solid strength that coursed through Bue—and even more so with the gruffness that permeated anyone who had the misfortune of living in Blood’s Landing. His curly blond hair and pale skin, painted in certain areas with light freckles, almost made him look soft. “That’s the whole point,” he told her. “People don’t expect me to know anything until it’s too late for them.” “Have you ever killed someone?” Imara asked. “Too many to count,” he responded. Imara’s breath hitched. “Really?” she asked. However, she thought, what makes me so different? “Some in defense, some in greed,” he said. “All necessary, though.” All necessary, she repeated in her head. “And my kills aren’t?”

Teorin looked soft. Imara had killed for less.

Today's #WIPSnips was supposed to be about "point"

...Turns out that point was rather sharp.

#TheDarkestCrown #QueerFantasyWIP #FantasyDialogue #WriteSky #KillcountConfessional