Something I'd like to be perfect at? ... Loving you,' I said. The words climbed from my mouth. 'I'd want to be perfect at loving you.

I only know that all of those people would have sensed me that night, excluding the youngest of the children. I was the suggestion. I was the advice, my imagined feet walking into the kitchen and down the corridor.

Liesel observed the strangeness of her foster father's eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver.

The silence was always the greates temptation.

***A Last note from your narrator*** I am haunted by humans.

The Germans in basements were pitiable, surely, but at least they had a chance. That basement was not a washroom. They were not sent there for a shower. For those people, life was still achievable.

You should know it yourself- a young man is still a boy, and a boy sometimes has the right to be stubborn.