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Cowardice has a shelf life.
She always said butterflies are for good things, moths are for situations that could go one way or the other, and wasps are when you know you’re fucked.
“Spark the flames, Ever.” “Ignite the infernos,” I answer automatically. “Ash the embers,”
“Because kindness is nothing more than a pretty bow around a pretty box. Foolish people assume there’s something beautiful or valuable inside the lovely packaging. Survivors know otherwise.”
Death and I have an unspoken agreement. We like to flirt and toy with one another, but we keep it cutesy and never go all the way.
“Spark the flames you need to see by, dragoness,”
“Cut me. Hurt me. Destroy me. I’ll happily bleed for you, Ever. Every drop is yours already.”
“Now fuck me like you hate me.”
