We are all of us, gods and mortals, made up of many pieces, some of them broken, some of them scarred, but none of them the total sum of who we are.

Good intentions are only lies the weak tell themselves.

He barks out a laugh. "My little rebel.

You love me?' 'Yes, you great lummox. I love you.' He lets out a sigh. 'Sweet Camulos! It's about time.

He smiles then, and even though it is well past midnight, its as if the sun has just come out.

It is all we have left to us. And while it is more than I ever dared dream, it is nowhere near enough.

Surely He does not give us hearts so we may spend our lives ignoring them.