Her faith was still some strange, broken mirror in her chest, the pieces sharp and jagged, reflecting years of her life out of order.
They drank to their wounds, their regrets, and their hopes, to the past, to how the choices each had made had unknowingly brought them back together.
Our hands can steal, or they can give. They can harm, or they can comfort. They can wound and kill, or they can heal and save. Which will you choose for your hands Torin?
Is it only blood that makes a House? Or is it beliefs? What holds people together more? The red in their veins or the fire in their hearts?
You and I must continue moving forward,” I whispered. “We must continue uprooting darkness and corruption, and replacing it with goodness and light. It will take time. It will take our entire hearts and the breadth of our lives, Isolde. But we do not wish we were dead. We do not wish that we were different individuals, despite what the saints or the gods have ordained for us.
If I am weak for wanting you, then let me embrace that weakness and make it my strength,” he said, his gaze fixed on the west. “And if you must haunt me, then let me haunt you in return.
There is always more strength to draw from. You must find where it hides and wield it.
I thought of the days before us, days we would carve with our hands and our minds and our words, days that would no doubt be uncertain and difficult and yet beautiful in the same breath.
My body demanded that I lie down and try to sleep, but more than that, I wanted to escape reality for just an hour of a blissful dream.
Our thoughts aligned, like the moon eclipsing the sun, casting a long shadow between us.
Sometimes you have to be thrown into things, or else you’ll never do them.
Music had granted once his power. Music now stripped it from him.
There is no failure in love, and I have loved without measure. In this, I am complete.
I am coming to love him, in two different ways. Face to face, and word to word.
La muerte cortaba y serenaba un alma.
I love the words I write until I soon realize how much I hate them, as if I am destined to always be at war within myself.
That’s it. You’re doing great, Winnow.” “Shut up, Kitt.” “Absolutely. Whatever you want.
I never told you that I love you. And I regret that, most of all.
My favorite season is autumn, because my mum and I both believed that’s the only time when magic can be tasted in the air.
It’s not a crime to feel joy, even when things seem hopeless. Iris, look at me. You deserve all the happiness in the world. And I intend to see that you have it.