I’m sorry,” he repeats again, too low for Raven and Tack to hear. “I’m sorry for everything.
Live free or die.
Despite the fact that Raven and Tack are often fighting, it's impossible to imagine one without the other. They are like two plants that have grown around each other - they strangle and squeeze and support at the same time.
The Wilds aren't safe anymore.
I didn’t know it would be like this,” he says in a whisper. And then: “I’m scared.
Fred is officially the mayor of Portland now.
They didn’t get me, I should have said. They saved me.
Love is a kind of possession. It’s a poison.
Amor deliria nervosa: It affects your mind so that you cannot think clearly, or make rational decisions about your own well-being. Symptom number twelve.
I didn't realize then what a privilege that was: to be bored with your best friend; to have time to waste.
The old Lena is dead.
Mama, Mama, put me to bed I won’t make it home, I’m already half-dead I met an Invalid, and fell for his art He showed me his smile, and went straight for my heart.
That is what Alex is now: a shadow-boy
I was glad when the invalids were executed
The kidnapping, the kiss. I brought him here, after all. I rescue him an pulled him into this new life, a life of freedom and feeling.
In one of the tents, Julian is sleeping. And in another: Alex
There were days I asked for it-prayed for it when I went to sleep. The belief that I would see you again, that I could find you-the hope for it-was the only thing that kept me going.
Alex is dead, do you hear me? All of that-what we felt, what it meant- that's done now, okay? Buried. Blown away.
Quiet through the grave go I; or else beneath the graves I lie
Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge.
My former people were not totally wrong. Love is a kind of possession. It’s a poison. And if Alex no longer loves me, I can’t bear to think that he might love somebody else.
For a moment, my heart aches for him. I should never have asked him to join me here; I should never have asked him to cross.
I close my eyes. An image flashes—emerging from the van with Julian after our escape from New York City; believing, in that moment, that we had escaped the worst, that life would begin again for us. Instead life has only grown harder.
I’m with Julian,” I say at last. This, after all, is what I have chosen.
You must hurt, or be hurt.
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