In case you're an alien and you're reading this: BITE ME.

The beautiful wooden board on a stand in my father's study. The gleaming ivory pieces. The stern king. The haughty queen. The noble knight. The pious bishop. And the game itself, the way each piece contributed its individual power to the whole. It was simple. It was complex. It was savage; it was elegant. It was a dance; it was a war. It was finite and eternal. It was life.

It isn't that the lies are too beautiful to resist. It's that the truth is too hideous to face.

Hold on tight, Sam." He puts me in a choke hold. "Ahhh," I gasp. "Not that tight.

Cruelty isn't a personality trait. Cruelty is a habit.

You are the nest. You are the hatchling. You are the chrysalis. You are the progeny. You are the rot that falls from stars. You may not understand what I mean. You will.

It isn't up to me to break his heart; that's time's job.