“...The pain didn't bother me. In fact, I welcome it: It meant I was alive. ”
“Silence didn't bother me, it was actually where I felt most comfortable—in the things that didn't need to be spoken—but this was a very pregnant silence that was starting to give me labor pains.”
“I didn't want to think about the fact that she could smell me, or that she just joked about eating me. At least I hoped she meant it as a joke.”
“It was very relaxing to be away from civilization, and this bothered me. I should not have found the loneliness so welcoming.”
“Her scent blazed in my throat and I was glad. It was a pain that meant she was alive. As long as I burned, she was safe.”
“I'd come to terms with what I did long ago. The bodies, the blood, the tears of those left behind. Even the fact I was probably going to burn in hell didn't bother me. Much.”