‘The King lay there in the dark for hours, in a pool of blood. He couldn’t remember his people or the bright warmth of the sun. He only remembered that he had loved them and that he was dying. His people had never loved him as he did them, so why had he? Because they were his people, because he wasn’t like them, because he was made of light and there was no other way to live than to love his people. But now his heart had been hollowed and filled with ice, and a heart of ice can’t love. The ice began to spread. ‘

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