Powerful (The Powerless Trilogy, #1.5)

by Lauren Roberts

Imperials like their whips, and I like my sticky buns.

Something like understanding seems to settle between us. As though loneliness has found its equal.

If there is a God, this man is certainly proof that He has His favorites.

“By all means, please grace me with the knowledge of your name. I’m on the edge of my seat.”

There is not a single cynical thought to deny the fact that she may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. She’s intimidatingly peaceful—a contradiction in itself. And I almost want to despise her for it. Because I fear there is a chance that I may begin to enjoy her.

“Homes tend to hurt you the most.”

Gentleness is the strength that fragility lacks.

She is an intoxicating sort of exhausting, like running until you’ve lost your breath but enjoying the feeling all the while. And I feel as though I’ve been sprinting for days.

“There is quite the difference between fragility and delicacy.”

Nicknames blossom between acquaintance and something more.

And so begins my doomed trip into Mak.

Tragedy follows me everywhere I go, and I’m not worthy of becoming her demise.

He’s not exactly a ray of sunshine, but perhaps something equivalent to a moonbeam. Mysterious and unnerving. Equally as beautiful, yet, soft enough to stare at.

I had never known happiness before her. But if there is to be an after in which she doesn’t exist, I know I never will again.

“But you… you’re the embodiment of everything I am not. And yet, here I am, crawling back to you as though I’ve left a piece of myself behind.”

“You don’t have to be rude.” “Have you met me?”

“And no one can take away your smile. It’s yours to give, Mak.”

I’m not a fan of spoons, only forks.

“Yes, nothing says ‘welcome home’ like a newly arranged pile of garbage.”

If darkness is the absence of light, then that is what I am when she is not around. And I wonder how I’ve stumbled this long without her to guide me.

“I would have waited another nineteen years if it meant you were the first good memory I was gifted.”

“You make even the stars envious,” I repeat softly, leaning toward her. “Because one day—far from now—you will be up there beside them, outshining every single one.”

With a deep breath, all fear seems to fall away when I focus on him. When I abandon expectations and simply am.

“I don’t fall for someone. I trip uncontrollably toward them before inevitably hitting the ground.”

“You look dangerous. But in the most elegant of ways.”

My fingers are my craft, my comfort, my connection to the past I’ve managed to survive.

Death is gentle in a way life never was.

For the girl who shines so bright that the sun pales in comparison.

In a way, she’s always been the sun. Always the brightness that existed despite the presence of such darkness.