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All stories are made of both truths and lies, she used to say. What matters is the way that we believe in them.
“I believe there are far more possibilities than happily ever after or tragedy. Every story has the potential for infinite endings.”
He held on to her as if she were a grudge, his body rigid and tense, as if he really didn’t want her there, and yet his arms were tight around her waist as though he had no intention of ever letting her go.
“Evangeline—stop looking at me like that. You’re making this much more difficult.”
Dark was for stars and dreams and the magic that took place in between days.
