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I hope he really was a monster.
Death will come from three minutes without air, three hours without shelter, three days without water.
I, killer of good, am not fit to live.
He doesn’t know why he loves her. But does anyone know why they love? We don’t love people for their traits—traits are common. We love them for their unique ability to tug at our soul, to connect to us in a way that no other person can. Love is unexplainable, unpredictable, and often unreasonable. It doesn’t make sense, and doesn’t care to explain to us its thought process.
“I will always love you,” he whispers. I lower my head to his chest to avoid a response. No, I think. You won’t.
THERE ARE NO lights, there is no pink.
the feeling greater than any I have ever known, better than my kills, better than my freedom. This is all I need. This is stronger than my affliction, my dark needs. This is what is important. This love might be my salvation.
