“There you are,” I said, still clasping her face and kissing her soundly as relief poured through me. Rage could be molded, honed. Rage could banish that bottomless pit of despair and guilt. I could work with rage. She whimpered, the fire dying as she lost her focus, and I broke away to gaze down at her, feeling awe and pride. “My love.” “Why?” she croaked. I knew she was asking why I had pushed her. Why I wanted her to channel her fire. Why…why I had failed her.
