“Not all men are the same, you know. With someone such as Gavriel, I would suggest appearing aloof, not chasing too much. He might see that as suffocating rather than charming."Her words are sharp, but her voice is sweet, like honey on the edge of a blade, and meant to be cutting. I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face and commending his soul to Mortain.”

“I comfort myself with the knowledge that if Duval ever feels smothered by me, it will be because I am holding a pillow over his face.”

“Oh, Lily," He says shaking his head. "I know about love. About wanting and dreaming and wishing with every part of your soul. I know enough to reconize the parts that are real and teh parts that are only in my fantasy." Ge turns his head slightly to face me, and I find myself saying,"L-like what?""Like when she cries and my heart tears in to little shreds, and all I can think of is making her forget the source of her sadness." His face is blank, emotionless. his words -and the underlying emotion bombarding me through the bond- more than make up for it. "That's real."my voice is barely a whisper when I ask, "And fantasy?""Believing she'll ever feel the same way.”

“I can still see her face -- The sorrow in her eyes, her voice, as she condemns me. I didn't know it was possible to feel such shame. To feel so sick at heart.I'm lost inside, my soul -- all that I thought I was, and am, and ever will be -- shattered, cast to the winds.Compared to this, death is a mercy.”

“Baby don't do this." He whispered the words. Why did he thought if she cried she'd feel better? It was too much, too much sorrow for her. He pulled her beneath him, lying over her, somehow trying with his body to protect her from the ggrief.She came awake, her eyes wide, black. Swimming with tears. "Nicholas? What is it?" He touched his face, the lines of worry there."You're crying, honey. I thought it would be good for you to cry, but not like this, not in your sleep where I can't share it with you.""I can't be crying." Dahlia wiped at the tears on her face with a kind of horror. "I never cry.""You are crying.""I can't stop." She looked desperate. "Make me stop, Nicholas, Make it stop.”

“I am starting to get tired of relying on words. They are full of meaning, yes, but they lack sensation. Writing to her is not the same as seeing her face as she listens. hearing back from her is not the same as hearing her voice. I have always been grateful for technology, but now it feels as if there's a little hitch of separation woven into any digital interaction. I want to be there, and this scares me. All my usual disconnected comforts are bieng taken away, now that I see the greater comfort of presence.”