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“Don’t you dare mistake compassion for lack of courage,” he growled. “Anyone can slaughter their enemies. Hate is easy—it’s mercy that requires the greater strength.
“Desire?” He gave a dark, throaty laugh. “Desire is a pathetic word for what I feel for you. I require you. I am sustained by you. You are the flame that fuels my fire. Don’t you dare question that—not for a second.”
“Show me your worst, my darling, and I’ll show you how far my love can go.”
“Why is it the traits I find endearing in you are so gods-damned annoying in your mother,” he snapped.
What did it mean to be a good person in a system built on such a fundamental bad? Could the best intentions and noble ends ever justify reprehensible means?
“It was an honor to watch you fight. You were so brave, and so strong, and so skilled, and so... so...” His voice went breathy as he leaned in close. “So beautiful.” “And so already spoken for,” Luther clipped.
Finally, to anyone reading this: when it seems like the world wants to crush your spirit and burn you alive, never forget my little flames, pressure and heat make diamonds.
