I was the Count of Monte Cristo, who would one day return from the terrible prison island to take revenge on all those who had sent him there. I was Napoléon, banished to die a lonely death on Saint Helena. I was Harry, locked up under the Dursleys’ staircase.

The Fairy looked at the broken glass around her feet. Her shattered cage. And the one who’d put her in it was far, far away. But, no, she had caged herself.

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