If she loved him the way she said she did, she wanted him whole. Maybe this was what love meant after all: sacrifice and selflessness. It did not mean hearts and flowers and a happy ending, but the knowledge that another's well-being is more important than one's own.

You have punished me long enough, you have punished yourself long enough. Return to me. I beg.

Stop your doubting, my love. I knew you would find me. ~Jack

He knew what it was like to love one who did not--or could not--love you back. But he'd had no choice. None of them did.

Had pretended to be Abbadon of the Dark, when always he had been working for the Light.

Because love was not the answer to every question. Because real love meant sacrifice. Sometimes love means letting go.

Love. It's so close to hate, it's almost indistinguishable. But this is how it was for the two of them. Love and hate. Life and death. Joy and anguish.