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My invitation was all proper and curly, like calligraphy of the mouth.
“There is no going back. There is no revival of our humans. There is no erasure of our horrors. No healing except of time and she is a vengeful mistress, leaving scars that are forever. But there also is no proof of foreknowledge, only of twenty-twenty hindsight. You guessed. You did not know. Knowing is only for God.” Edmund lifted and dried Eli’s hands. He said, “Your hands are clean. Not stained with blood. You need not carry the blood of your men. Only their memories.”
“I refuse to heal this child again. Not so long as he continues to drink poison.” “Poison?” “The foul energy drink. That beverage comes directly from hell.” He retched his way to the kitchen and propped his elbows on the counter, hanging his head over the sink. “Vamps can puke?”
“If your bed weren’t bloody I would have peeled your clothes away and taken you right now.” “If the floor wasn’t bloody I’d have taken you on the floor.” Bruiser spluttered with laughter and the moment was broken, though the sweetness remained as he dropped his head and laughed into my shoulder. His hold around me eased. “And that, my darling War Woman, is why you have my heart.”
Time doesn’t heal all emotional wounds. Often they scar over, leaving abnormal psychic tissue, faulty emotional patterns, sometimes with an absence of sensation at all.
ME? CRAZY? I SHOULD GET DOWN OFF THIS UNICORN AND SLAP YOU.
