“This is the real Madame. I can see why she hides herself in accents and gems and exotic perfumes. I can see why she's grown to hate anything to do with love. She isn't evil or corrupt the way that Vaughn is. She's broken. Only broken.”

“I can see why she feels left behind. Maybe even discarded. Is that why she refuses to accept my love and return it? Afraid that love doesn't last? Doesn't really exist? Afraid if her own father can withdraw his love (or at least the manifestation of his love), that maybe she somehow isn't worthy of the emotion?”

“She plays music to heal herself, but nothing can heal her brokenness.”

“These are the things we do sometimes, she thinks. We remind ourselves of why we're in love, so that we can stay that way. It's not a permanent state, remember that, she tells herself.”

“She went around with a broken heart, and she wasn't sure who'd broken it. She thought it was herself, mostly.”

“Who is she, why is she still here and when can I see her naked? Paris asked with an eyebrow wiggle”