“Despite myself, I wince.  Everything about her screams “psychopath” – and not the ho-hum, hey-kid-I’m-a-creepy-loner-who’s-gonna-chop-you-up-and-eat-you kind that Hollywood adores.  She’s the truly effed-up variety.  The hey-bitch-I’m-the-pageant-spawned-nightmare-who’s-gonna-make-you-wish-you-were-dead-if-you-even-think-about-running-against-me-for-Prom-Queen type.  And it’s got me checking for the nearest exit.Until he steps in.”

“How else do you explain a bunch of nature-loving, uniform-wearing, possibly-magic head cases who believe in royal clans and shack up in the middle of Rocky Mountain nowhere?  Pretty much screams ‘cult’ to me.”

“As much as I try not to, I can’t help but stare.  It’s kind of like stumbling across a bizarre Teen Vogue shoot, only there’s clearly something more to this cast. Everything about them is captivating, but it’s not just their looks.  It’s the way they move; they way they act; even they way they –“Paigelyn?”Crap.”

“Half an ass,” he mutters, or at least that’s what it sounds like.  In my opinion it doesn’t really pack a whole lot of punch, but apparently I’m wrong and being called “half an ass” is the new mother of all insults because everyone else is riled.  Especially Nate, who looks like he’s a split second away from rearranging Xaevier’s face.”

“He scooped me up and suddenly I was pressed against his chest. “Were you worried about me?”"No, I’m ranting for fun, because I’m a disagreeable bitch!”

“Pamela, I’m in love with you. Yeah, it’s that bad. You’re so beautiful to me. Shut up! Lemme tell you. Let me. Every time I look at your face or even remember it, it wrecks me - and the way you are with me - and you’re just fun and you shit all over me and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day to think about you enough. I feel like I’m going to live a thousand years cause that’s how long it’s gonna take me to have one thought about you which is that I’m crazy about you, Pamela. I don’t wanna be with anybody else. I don’t. I really don’t. I don’t think about women anymore. I think about you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were on a train. We were on this train and you were holding my hand. That’s the whole dream. You were holding my hand and I felt you holding my hand. I woke up and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t real. I’m sick in love with you, Pamela. It’s like a condition. It’s like polio. I feel like I’m gonna die if I can’t be with you. And I can’t be with you. So I’m gonna die - and I don’t care cause I was brought into existence to know you and that’s enough. The idea that you would want me back it’s like greedy.”

“I’m here to right wrongs and I’m gonna do it, Angel. You told me I’d had my last chance but I don’t accept that and I won’t. If you tell me now that my explanation is not enough and you want me gone, I’m not goin’. I’m not giving up. I got one part of my life’s dream still open to me, very sign she gives me is screaming that she’s standing in my arms right now and I’m not gonna be ninety years old, looking back on my life and regretting that I gave up that dream.”