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Which irritates me more: the couch bothering me because Chloe bled all over it and thinking of that puts me in a foul mood, or knowing that Aristide was right about me hating it?
If Amalourne was a pet’s love—warm but focused only on affection as a comfort and moment of peace—Chloe was the dangerous and alluring hint of a binding love—something that lasted through death, pain…and power. Something far deeper, far rarer, and far more precious.
They blaze. Like fire. Consuming and yet…beautiful.
human Chloe freely hugging me was like magic.
