“Tell me, Kitten.” That deep, smooth voice brushed over me like a physical caress. “Shall I leave now, or wait until later?”

“So, we're at war. Perfect. Shall we save time and kill each other now, or did you want to wait until later?"-Puck”

“I'm not leaving until you tell me why you followed me. I know I'm a fascinating guy, but this is starting to feel like an unhealthy obsession.”

“He runs his finger tips along my cheek, caressing my face. “Hush. I’m right here.” He looks at me with deep anguish in his eyes. Like there’s so much he wants to tell me but feels it’s too late now. I want to stroke his face and tell him that it will be okay. That everything will be all right. And I wish so badly that it would be.”

“It's killing me not to do everything in my power to beg you to be with me. To wait for me, because I'm waiting for you. Waiting to tell you over and over how much I still love you...”

“I exist. It's sweet, so sweet, so slow. And light: you'd think it floated all by itself. It stirs. It brushes by me, melts and vanishes. Gently, gently. There is bubbling water in my throat, it caresses me- and now it comes up again into my mouth. For ever I shall have a little pool of whitish water in my mouth - lying low - grazing my tongue. And this pool is still me. And the tongue. And the throat is me.”