"I thought you of all people would understand my need to be free of such things. You were the most spiritual of the three of us as a girl. Do you remember that? No devotee of the Nameless certainly, but you used to make me take you to the Mothers' shrine so you could lay jasmine blossoms and kiss their feet."
"That was before the first time that Chandra hurt me," Malini said crisply. "That ended my childhood fantasies abruptly."
He stared at her uncomprehending. "When," he said, "did he hurt you as a child?"
She sucked in a breath. He didn't remember.
She wanted to lift her hair and bare her neck. She wanted to show him how she had been hurt. To show him not simply the physical scar, but the way Chandra's cruelties large and small had flayed her sense of self until she was raw, a furious tangle of nerves, until she was forced to build herself armor, jagged and cruel, to be able to survive. But he would not understand. He had never understood. Her hurts and her terrors, which had consumed her all her life, had always been small to him. He had either never truly seen them or simply easily forgotten them.
- The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri