Your life is a blank, and you're barely a shade across it.

I like to think I'm positive and optimistic about things generally, but what I write does tend towards the darker end of the spectrum.

The reaction to death is sometimes as violent as death itself. Shock throws a cautious coolness over your senses, but your stomach still has knots, your skin stings as if the Reaper is glaring at you as well.

Fate knows all about you, it knows your fears and your weaknesses and your confidences and strengths, and it can be ready for all of them when it decides that the time is right. It can move you like a pawn in a terrible game of chess, sacrifice you for the good of others, drop you from a building you should never have been inside, give you a disease that no one has ever heard of. Luck and chance are impartial. Fate is active. It picks on people. Almost as if it thinks about things too much.

Between a gasp and a sigh, a life can change forever.

Love is harsh, and it consumes. And more than anything, it demands sacrifice.

Humans crave knowledge, and when that craving ends, we are no longer human.