And it felt like coming home.
Lena knelt beside him. "The Lust Grimm isn't about love. It's about the shape of a hole. You fell in love with the absence, not the woman." lust grimm
That night, Lena did something she had never done before. She took off her coat, sat at his workbench, and picked up his chisel. She carved herself. Not her face—her hunger. She carved a figure of a woman reaching for something just out of frame, her fingers clawing the air. And it felt like coming home
"Nothing," Lena said. "That’s the point. The Lust Grimm ends when you admit that the reaching is the whole disease. There is no fruit at the end of the branch. Only the branch, and the hand, and the ache." It's about the shape of a hole
"Her name was Mira," he whispered. "I wanted her so badly that I carved her a thousand times. But each time I finished, the wanting got worse. The statue wasn't her . So I carved again. And again."
Aldric was a skeleton draped in skin. His eyes were wet holes. He didn’t look at Lena; he looked through her, at the empty air where the woman used to be.
