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Hope’s regards me with contempt. “Who’s Hendrix?” My hand comes up and covers her mouth. “Stop talking.” Then . . . then, the human licks my hand, causing me to jump away from her. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you mental?” I grumble. “Yes, actually. I. Am. A. Mental. Patient. You have a shitty memory, Stone.”
There will be no coming back from this. Truth be told, I’m not sure I want to. With one kiss, I’m destroyed.
“Ancient legend states you will make his heart your own. Stolas’s birthright and the Circles will settle again in his soul, darkening it further. It will tear you two apart and he will fade into the night because he thinks there is a strange love in letting go. But love is mercy; it will save you both. When you call, he will come to you.”
“Don’t knock on the devil’s door and expect him to answer.”
With a heavy sigh, I look up at her from my drawing. “I’m not your savior.” “Maybe . . .” she starts, walking over to me, until she’s an inch away. “Maybe what?” I like the way she studies my charcoal-covered fingers. “Maybe, I’m your savior. Your . . . knightress in shining armor.”
“Why do you only draw pieces of something, and not the entire object or person?” “I focus on the one thing that is most telling about the entity. The one part I think holds the key to its existence. Everything is a part, or pieces, of the whole. Each fragment has a story to tell.
“Those who have seen the deepest, darkest corners of despair and hopelessness, and survived it, they are the ones who are the strongest in this world. You don’t go through what we’ve seen, or felt, and come out weak. It makes us stronger.”
“Bullshit! It looks like you slathered yourself in honey, then rolled around in a big-ass pile of emotion.”
Mortals have trouble understanding that love and hate are the same feeling, just experienced under different circumstances. The passion and pain in each is the same. It’s only the occurrences surrounding the emotion that is different.
Suddenly feeling warm, I roll up my sleeves. When I do, I notice a sketch on the skin of my left forearm. It’s a heart drawn in charcoal. My brows pinch together, curious as to how it got there.
