I think I prefer Locke and his friends chasing me around the woods to you stabbing me in the back. Again.
And if I never change back? If I’m not human enough anymore?” He smiled; she could feel it against her skin. “Then we’ll go hunt vampires together and you’ll drink their blood.” “The Lady or The Tiger,” she said, thinking of the drinking game she’d played at the farmhouse, thinking of the story that never ended, of a coin spinning without falling on heads or tails. “My lady, the tiger,” he told her, and got up to turn the camera back on.
Val and Ruth had been friends forever, for so long that Val was used to being the overshadowed one, the “normal” one, the one who set up the witty one-liners, not the one who delivered them. She liked that role; it made her feel safe. Robin to Ruth’s Batman. Chewbaca to her Han Solo.
They looked absurdly gorgeous, glowing from the television like fallen angels. Even from the beginning, that was a problem. People liked pretty things. People even liked pretty things that wanted to kill and eat them.
Believe what you can handle believing.
A king is not his crown.
This house feels unfamiliar and disturbingly full of possibilities.
I guess it’s true; no one will ever love you like your family.
What is that quote?” Hazel said, walking to him, too glad he’d come to object to the danger he’d put himself in. “The Lord protects fools, drunks, and dumbass ax wielders?
Ah.” He sat down on the couch, looking stunned with lack of sleep. “And so you came here in the middle of the night?
You think because you can humiliate me, you can control me?
This is weakness, to put fear above ambition, above family, above love, but it feels good. It feels like being powerful.
Can you save yourself?
In those stories, one is often asked to do something unimaginably terrible to the creature. Cut off it’s head, say. A test. Not a test of love. A test of trust. Trust lifts the spell.
Knowledge and action are one and the same.
He was ruinously beautiful in the way that knives and scalpels can be beautiful.
It turns out that having kissed someone, the possibility of kissing hangs over everything, no matter how terrible an idea it was the first time. The memory of his mouth on mine shimmers in the air between us.
She loved him so much, that it already hurt. It already felt like he’d broken her heart.
When I was a kid and brought friends over, I was defiantly proud of the chaos. I liked that I knew how to jump over the piles and the shattered glass while they stumbled. Now it just seems like an ocean of crazy that I have no way to explain.
Protecting somebody by hurting them before someone else gets the chance isn’t the kind of protecting that anybody wants.