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You know what is more horrible than war, Father? Childhoods stolen by vile men. Filthy hands finding innocence at night and taking what is meant to be untouched for years yet to come.
The worst crimes happen on the most peaceful nights. When children are tucked away. When bedtime stories are read. When the night prayers are recited. Isn’t it the best time for judgment too, Father?
Forgive me, Father, but he deserved it. And the children in that orphanage will not hear the bedtime stories anymore, for the monster was the one who used to read them.
When you’ve seen the worst of humanity, you spot evil everywhere. Every shade of it. Every shape. Every tiny speck. And you want to wipe it away in every way possible.”
“You should laugh more often.” She didn’t know what else to say. “I shall. If you are around,” he answered.
Revenge was a short-term victory, eventually pointing its lethal end at the one holding it.
“Your stories are always dark,” she said. “Does anything bring you joy?” “You,” he answered, and her heart thudded at the word.
A man’s heart can withstand abuse, grief, and all sorts of evil, Father. But a simple act of kindness can undo it and make it beat wildly.
A single red rose for Alina.
This girl is blind as a bat
When you came into my life, I couldn’t wait for a new day as long as you were in it. I’ve never known true love, Alina. But if it means reliving the horrible past only for a chance to meet you again—than I would have done it again so it could bring me to the day I met you. If it means going through a hundred tortures just to hear you say my name, I love you. If it means to lay down my life just to see you smile, I love you, Alina.”
The man who fought monsters looked vulnerable facing the woman he loved.
Angels live in heaven, Father, but I found mine in hell. And, God forgive me, but if it took such a sin to carry her out of there, I would do it again.
“People don’t have the power until they’ve had enough of misery. They are not brave until they unite. Then their impatience spills over, like a stream, growing into rapids, turning into blinding rage. That’s how the masses awaken—from the bottom, crashing like water through a broken dam. Often violently. But often, that’s what it takes to break the power that holds them in an iron grip.”
Do angels have babies in your holy book, Father? Because I wanted to take her right then and make little angels with her.
“I’ve come to tell you, Father, that tiny angels don’t have wings. But they do have the most luminous gray eyes. Hers.”
This is the perfect epilogue
