Mr. Complete Lack of Sympathy

If I'm not supposed to be awake, why are you here?" I mumbled. "To be the little spoon.

Where. Is. He?" Alphonse repeated, although it sounded more like "Don't make me eat your face.

You mean you let him talk to you like that and you aren't even getting any Man what a rip-off.

Poireaux vinaigrette aux grains de caviar.” I did a quick translation. “Leeks and fish eggs in vinegar?” He grinned. “It sounds better in French.” Yeah, but did it taste better?

I’d have been dead a long time ago if not for my friends, one of whom had just jumped off the cliff after me. I’d have been a lot more appreciative if he hadn’t pushed me first." ~Cassandra Palmer

They always assumed that I did not speak. That I could not. So many had plotted my death, discussed it, laughed about it, even while I was in the same room, because they assumed I was mindless. Like one of the failures of their kind, born mad. But I was not a failure. I was what I was supposed to be. I was dhampir. And they never lived to tell anyone they were wrong.