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“Good. It took that stab to get you to admit you love me,” he reminded her. “It needed to be said in blood,” she whispered.
He kissed her then. Even after a year. Even after fires and murders and dwelling in darkness, loving in darkness, kissing him still felt exactly the same as it had when she was seventeen years old. Like all her favorite things, rolled into one. Like every dream, every nightmare, she'd ever had.
