Dani

“What can I say?" Poe muttered. "Chicks dig the mustache.”
― Kelly Creagh, Nevermore

“You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight and a half years ago. Dare not say that a man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant.”
― Jane Austen

“Whenever you are ready, or if you never are, my heart is yours....”
― R.L. LaFevers, Grave Mercy

“Is — is any of this real?" she asked. "Are you real?"

He lifted a hand to her cheek, his fingers brushing her jaw.

"Even if this is a dream," he whispered, "I'm not."

Isobel's eyes widened, recognizing those words as her own, the same ones she had once uttered to him. She reached for him, her arms twining around his neck, drawing him closer so his scent poured over her, that combination of incense, citrus, and dried leaves overriding the funeral funeral smell of the crowding flowers.

"Don't leave," she breathed.

"I'm here," he whispered. "Right here. Waiting.”
― Kelly Creagh, Enshadowed