lost in the labyrinth

the avons would have sunk to any form of depravity to keep hold of weavingshaw. they consider it the house of their blood.

happiness is so hard to come by. i don’t understand why anyone would begrudge anyone else for managing to find some of it.

but you’ve spent fifteen years saying mean things to me and i have loved you every second of them anyway.

“it’s not true, you know,” he said. “you don’t have to be good, or useful, for someone to care about you.”

being up here makes me feel small, but being with you makes me feel significant

“you’re doing it again,” he says at last. i look away quickly. “doing what?” “romanticizing nightmares.”

i want to make up for every day of every year i spent fighting with her instead of loving her. lately, it's been seeming like she feels the same way too.

i’ve grown up in so many ways, but perhaps it’s time for another change. one that begins with returning to the place where my whole life began and to the man who lives there. doctor darling.

there is power that is showy and fierce. and there is power grown slowly, and stronger for the time spent braiding its ancient strength.