It is utterly and completely different to the Samhain kiss, with so little force, so little life, that I almost want to cry. I cling to the memory of other touches, other caresses I didn’t stop to appreciate, always assuming we’d have more time. “You undo me,” he murmurs into me. “You undo me, too.” “How shall I ever know if you’re telling the truth?” “Glamour me.” “What?” “Glamour me. Compel me to tell you the truth. I give you full permission. I… I need you to know. I need you to understand.”
