But you just said you loved me." "I do, Mer. That's the point. I can't make you like me. I can't stand the thought of you hungry or cold or scared. I can't make you a Six.
I've tried to make choices. You don't really trust me to.
Darling, you’re perfect.
Great. Now the queen thought I was a misfit, too.
It was almost comforting, this mutual acceptance of our secrets.
Do you think, that I could still call you 'my dear'?