“It is an injustice, Mische, that this is what you got when you asked for love,” he murmured. “This isn’t what love should feel like.” It isn’t? I almost said. Because this was what I was taught that love was—something you hurt for, something you bled for. You give your god your life, your blood, your virgin body. You give your charges your devotion and never accept theirs. You give and give and give until you have stripped your soul bare.
