#mareborrow

[carito279]

Love is not a word we use. We feel it, but we don’t say it. It feels so final, a declaration from which there is no easy return. I’m a thief, I know my exits. And I was a prisoner. I hate locked doors. But his eyes are so close, so eager. And it’s what I feel. Even though the words terrify me, they are the truth. Didn’t I say I would start telling the truth?

“I love you,” I whisper, leaning forward to brace my forehead against his.

Mare, King’s Cross

[carito279]

“He scowled more than he smiled, a bitter hermit to most. But he was a living man. He told me once it was cruel to give hope where none should be. He had no hope of walking again, or being the man he was before. Now he stands as proof of the opposite and that hope, no mater how small, no matter how impossible, still be answered.”

Mare, The King’s Cage