You mean you have to be epic already, for it to make you more epic?

Could words and symbols wield such power? Could mere scribblings on parchment unmake a person's moral fiber? Weren't we made of sterner stuff?

He was sexual in a way that made women think of deeply repressed fantasies therapists and feminists alike would cringe to hear tell of.

Revenge. They took too much. You give up and die, or learn how to take back.

When he'd pushed inside me and I'd feel him begin to penetrate, it had turned me into a wild thing-hot, wet, and desperate for more of him. With every kiss, every caress, every thrust, I'd just needed more. He'd touched me, I went nuts. The world dwindled down to one thing: him.

I began peering into the corners of the room, making sure all the shadows were cast by objects and obeying known laws of physics.

Some people fall apart when they get hurt. Puddle into apathy and despair and never recover. They wait all their lives for someone to come along and rescue them.