The Darkness Within Us

My husband is taking too long to die

Men are the most sensitive individuals I have ever met, yet they claim it is women who are always close to hysterics.

We can patch up plaster. Replace broken wood, pound out the dents to the brass. But wounds to the soul cannot be fixed so readily.

I know you have options." "And those options will be taken away the second I marry. I will be beholden to my husband." "But you will be wealthy." "Is that what you'd choose? Bondage over freedom for the right price?" He flicks his long hair out of his eyes. "Bondage is hardly the right word." How about prostitution, then?" "Excuse me?" " That's what I'd be trading. Sex for money." "That's not-" "Isn't it?" I ask, cutting him off. "Men need heirs to pass on their titles. That's why they take wives. Else they'd be content with mistresses forever. A wife is but an object, a vessel for his progeny.

THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS A BAD IDEA, JUST POORLY EXECUTED AWESOME ONES. —Damon Salvatore, The Vampire Diaries, Season 2, Episode 15

Whether they be to have this monster far, far from you or as close to you as possible to protect you and love you for the rest of my life.

And yet, amid all that carnage, there is beauty, too. Because I can see him.

Eryx picks up a man and snaps him in half over his knee.

I hate you,” I whisper.

For my sister has made her appearance. And she’s not wearing white.

Rhoda Nikolaides, a dowager marchioness, and Hestia Lazos,

Kallias Maheras is a sight to behold even without his shadows swirling about him like living flame.

He rolls our bodies so that I am tucked underneath his long, strong form. His messy hair spills around his face.

I hate them. I hate him.

I don’t know why it amuses me to keep bringing up his death. Perhaps because it will make me seem less suspicious.

I want a mistress. The male equivalent of one. What would you call that?” “I don’t think there is a word for that.” “Then perhaps we should make one.

You are a man, and you will never know what it is to suffer as only a woman can!

I mark my place in the lovely romance novel about two gentlemen who must bridge the gap between their social classes to be together, and march into the parlor.

Fair? Fair! Men do not get to utter that word in a world that favors them in every single space of life.

I try to get back into my novel, I really do, but I’m so terribly furious. I had been interrupted during the first kissing scene of all places, and now I can’t properly enjoy it while I’m distracted by thoughts of clawing Eryx’s eyes from his skull.