I did not tell her I remembered telling her I loved her or that she did not say it back. That part I kept to myself, fear a heavy, dreadful thing that told me no matter what we did or shared, she did not love me. There was still so much she kept from me, and like a fool, I was too afraid to ask. My heart could not take it if I spoke those words again, and the look that she wore now formed. How ironic was it that I had slayed beasts larger and deadlier than me and spoke to gods and deities who bowed to me, yet with her, I was utterly and completely terrified?
