I dreamed of being a part of the stories—even terrifying one, even horror stories—because at least the girls in stories were alive before they died.

It was like when we were little kids and we played games on the ivy-covered hillside in the backyard. We were warriors and wizards and angels and high elves and that was our reality. If someone said, Isn’t it cute, look at them playing, we would have smiled back, humoring them, but it wasn’t playing. It was transformation. It was our own world. Our own rules.

It seems impossible that you can love one person so much, no matter what happens, no matter what they do.

You are in my blood. I cant help it. We can't be anywhere except together

It was always a relief when she came home to him. Like water or food. Like music or that moment when you cut yourself with a knife and squeeze the skin and no blood oozes out.

Here you go on this long long dream. Don't even try to wake up. Just let it go on until it is over. You will learn many things. Just relax and observe because there is pain and that's it mostly and you aren't going to be able to escape no matter what. Eventually it will all be over anyway. Good luck.

Besides, secretly, without knowing it herself, she had been waiting for a Beast to go to.