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Aaron Warner Anderson, chief commander and regent of Sector 45, son of the supreme commander of The Reestablishment. He has a soft spot for fashion.
We forget that the blackness is not a blanket; we forget that the sun will soon rise.
am no longer afraid of fear, and I will not let it rule me. Fear will learn to fear me.
Words, I think, are such unpredictable creatures. No gun, no sword, no army or king will ever be more powerful than a sentence. Swords may cut and kill, but words will stab and stay, burying themselves in our bones to become corpses we carry into the future, all the time digging and failing to rip their skeletons from our flesh.
I’d rather be shot dead screaming for justice than die alone in a prison of my own making.”
“Do you never get exhausted being so wholly unbearable? You have as much charisma as the rotting innards of unidentified roadkill.”
“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you exactly as you are.”
“Ignite, my love. Ignite.”
“You will go on to greatness,” he whispers. “I have never deserved you.”
Words are like seeds, I think, planted into our hearts at a tender age.
Twice. Once for Adam. Once for Warner.
