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Come now, my child, if we were planning to harm you, do you think we’d be lurking here beside the path in the very darkest part of the forest? —Kenneth Patchen
That was why Fairfold was special, because it was so close to magic. Dangerous magic, yes, but magic all the same.
Her tragedy, if she had one, was to be as normal and average as any child ever born.
Children can have a cruel, absolute sense of justice. Children can kill monsters and feel quite proud of themselves.
A little girl can find a dead boy and lose her dog and believe that she could make sure no one else was lost.
They loved him as they loved the Eleventh Doctor with his bow tie and his flippy hair and the Tenth Doctor with his mad laugh.
What she did know was that normal was a lot more tempting when it was out of reach.
“We love until we do not. For us, love doesn’t fade gradually. It snaps like a branch bent too far.”
To Ben, love was the flame in which he wanted to be reborn. He wanted to be remade by it.
We are all capable of great self-deception when it serves us.”
You and your sister are very dear to each other. To show your regard, you give each other lovely bouquets of lies.”
And then Hazel understood. Ben was taking her through the storm of grief. He was singing her through the rage and despair. He was singing her through the terrible loneliness, because there was no way to shut off grief, no way to cast it aside or fight against it. The only way to end grief was to go through it.
She’d loved Jack for ages, loved him for so long that her love was an ache that never left her body. Jack, who kissed her like nothing else mattered. Jack, who knew her too well. She’d loved him and had believed he couldn’t ever like her, had believed it so firmly that even with the memory of his saying he did, she still felt as though he was going to snatch it back, declare that he’d made a mistake.
Anyone who offers up their heart on a silver platter deserves what they get.
