Like most, I was a mix of good and bad, anger and protectiveness, kindness and pride. But right now, I had only strangled fear and the promise of revenge.

Just . . . love me, and let tomorrow look after itself.

For I need this scar over my heart to remind me. Crazy as it sounds, if I can bear the wound on my body, it lessens what I must carry on my soul. How he knew that about me, I cannot fathom.

He went in, lean and deadly, and ended the creature with a lightning-fast spike of his blade. It shrieked, likely altering the rest. The death call carried like a mournful song.

We're broken in complementary ways, thus rendering our damage comprehensible to each other.

After people have gone, you forget their faults, and you recall the ideal more than the person.

Sometimes I miss the old me.