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For those who feel small and quiet. Spread those wings and roar.
Her love was a screaming torrent. The deep, gut-wrenching wail of an avalanche. The near-silent cry of sprinkling rain.
Preparation is my armor. Don it or die.
my stabby hand twitching as I move past Tarik and make for the exit,
I love her
She’s growing on me. I hate when folk grow on me.
The harder you care, the more fragile everything seems.
Survival’s funny. Some wear it like a whisper, others like a scream. Mine’s a scorched skeleton of flame-forged rage that keeps me upright. Keeps me moving forward.
The disabling might of a male determined to take whatever he wants.
Clode’s such a crazy, spiteful bitch. I love her.
Sadness is like stones that stack inside you, making it harder to move. Ignorance is my self-preservation tonic, and I’ll swear by it until I die.
I usually cut first, don’t think later. I much prefer myself that way.
male I probably should’ve slaughtered. But I didn’t. Because he smelled good.
You can reshape a turd an infinite number of times, but it’s still a turd. It still stinks.
Well, he needs to die.
Problem solving skills >>>
I also like the idea of being able to fall from the sky and squash somebody if they piss me off. I’d aim myself at the Fade King and obliterate him in a heartbeat for doing such a shit job of keeping his kingdom together. Petty, but justified.
So many assholes, so few fingers to count them all.
Like it’s somehow his fault I possess a brain that thinks, a mouth that speaks,
I should be able to die how I want to die, dammit!
Right now, the ground is my friend. Unless I’m standing—then it’s my enemy.
Few folk help others in this world without expecting something in return.
Of course, I can’t attend and speak for myself because princesses are to remain mute and veiled in public until their binding ceremony—something
