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“But for the sake of clarity, should you learn she is indeed a Legacy and the Source bond cannot be severed another way, it is not an Achaz Legacy whose life will pay that price. That is the cost of this kindness we’ve extended to you.”
“I’m saying you need to decide you’re worth it. Even on the hard days. Even on the days you feel like giving up. Even on the days where it feels pointless. You need to decide you are worth it.”
“So many things don’t make sense. Too many things. It’s utter madness. May as well fall into it.”
“I think you will learn soon enough that wrestling with fate leaves scars. Only you can decide if they’re worth it.”
“I know you think it feels freeing to let your power have you, Tessa, but what have I told you from the very beginning? I want everything you have to give. Your power does not get to have you. I do,” Theon said.
“He’s not mine to change. I’m just trying to survive, and if that means making a bargain with a villain, then so be it.”
“You may have stolen her Guardian from her, but that only means you must now deal with me.”
“If I am forever someone else’s, what does that make you, little storm?” “The same thing I’ve always been. Nothing.”
“That facing truths is difficult, but deciding what to do with those truths is the greatest burden of all.”
“If it’s something I want? For fuck’s sake, Kat, I’ve wanted since the moment I laid eyes on you. Before that even. If Theon feels a fraction of this draw to Tessa, I understand the obsession, because I am obsessed with you. It’s why even though I know this is a terrible idea, I’m going to let you have it. I don’t even know what this is, but I know I could never deny you a godsdamn thing.”
“Everyone has battle wounds,” Luka cut in. “They are proof you not only survived, but that you chose to get back up and fight again. Fighters have scars, Tessa.”
Control meant safety, and safety meant love. It was what he’d done with her from the beginning. She didn’t understand that the only way he knew how to love was to obsessively possess and protect. She didn’t understand that growing up, his father made sure he was so deprived of safety, sanctuary, and love, that having those things—and making sure those he called his own had them too—became an obsession.
“Our nights would be spent on balconies under the stars talking or on sofas before fires watching a Chaosphere game. Our nights would be more than fucking fruit, cheese, and crackers. Our nights would be soft words instead of barbed ones to deflect and protect. Our nights would be intimate touches rather than frantic ones of uncertainty. Our nights would be my hands in your hair instead of your fingers pulling on the strands. Our nights would be anything but whatever the fuck this is. Our nights wouldn’t involve mental shields blocking each other out, and if you tried, I’d call you out on that
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“Our nights would be dark, but you’d love it there because you’d realize we need your light as much as you crave the dark.”
