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The truth is that they are just two shades of the same loneliness, friends in commonality, holding each other through the storm.
“Not a desirable trait, is it? For a woman to be arrogant? On a man, it charms, but in women, it corners us. A self-assured woman is either a harlot or embittered.”
“It is my aim in life to leave an impression and I don’t much care for ensuring it be a good one.”
She looks exactly like the woman he first saw in the Glacian palace – like a warrior, like destruction. Like she should be his. Or he should be hers. He cannot help the lowering of his head, or the way his nose slides along her jaw. He cannot stop his lips from finding hers, like missing pieces connecting. And in every second that he knows he should stop, leave her be, he also knows he cannot possibly let her go. Because she is his. And he is hers.
