What a massive responsibility, being a moral creature

I feel an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation in my lips, tugging them upward. This is... new.

What wonderful thing didn't start out scary?

I notice faint scars on her wrists and forearms, thin lines too symmetrical to be accidents.

What's the point of trying to fix a world we're so briefly in?

If there are rules, we're the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.

Regret is pointless. I never do anything without first deciding to do it based on facts and feelings, and if it doesn't work out how I hoped, oh well, there's another notch on my experience belt.