How was I to know? ... You didn't say anything.""I said lots of things," he corrected gently. "You just didn't hear them.

The reality was that while they might have eternity, there was violence on the horizon. And in the present. She wasn't intending on ignoring it. She couldn't. But she wasn't going to ignore them either. Just kiss me, ---.” A look of hesitation crossed his face, but he didn't push her away. He swept her legs from under her and lifted her into his arms. " -Darkest Mercy (p 28)

Writing is not just the technical act of your fingers on the keyboard. Writing is living.

Some mortals--like you--are already half in love with death. It is who you are, and I'll not make it harder on you by telling you things you don't need to know. Ask me again when you die. Then I'll tell you everything, anything, nothing.

I still dream that it was you. No matter how many times I've looked, in my dreams it's always been you who were meant to be my queen.

Good night, Seth." "So you're running again, then?" One of his boots thudded on the floor. "I'm not running." The other boot hit the floor. "Really?" "Really. It's just—" She stopped; she didn't have anything that would finish that sentence and be honest. "Maybe you should slow down, so I can catch you." He paused, waiting.

She was afraid, but she couldn't just sit around waiting for someone to save her. She had to try to save herself, try to figure it out.