I want to be proud that she has a backbone, but I also want to break it, snapping it into itty-bitty pieces.
You forget that every fallen angel was once an angel themselves. Monsters don’t really want to be monsters. We’re just like everyone else, waiting for someone to come save us from our very own damned darkness.
Nothing is wrong. It’s merely what you think is right and wrong that has you confused.
I’m like the monster that hides under your bed, waiting till the moment your breath evens out, and your eyes close to attack.
I glare at him, willing ice daggers to come out of my eyes and stab him.