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Most threads frayed over time and distance, but never Io’s. Her love was evergreen.
Was it so wrong to have this one sweet thing to cherish, a fate larger than life, a destiny beyond the laws of nature?
In the last dregs of sunlight shifting through the high windows, he looked like a painting, both faded and vibrant, ancient and timeless.
“Listen,” he said, “if it’s any worth, I understand. There is violence in kindness, and kindness in violence.”
“You know, one day you’ll need to grow the hell up and let other people decide for themselves if they like you or not.”
Io dreaded that her love was doomed to be rejected, or tricked, or manipulated. And at the same time, she wanted desperately to be loved.
“I think the people we love can be cruel. Our love doesn’t absolve them. Nor should it.” “What kind of person are you,” Edei whispered, “if you love someone who is cruel?” It was a question Io had often asked herself. She opened her mouth, closed it. Tried again. “You’re someone who loves. That’s it. That’s the only part that’s yours to give and yours to take.”

