Wicked

Revenge in the hands of your enemies is a loaded gun. You can beg them for mercy, wave the white flag of surrender, but the only true elixir for the vitriol they bestow is a measure of hatred dispensed of your own.

It is majestic, this love affair of ours, so powerful and regal. It is the kind of love that fairtales are born of. The kind that often ends in tragedy.

She gives me the finger and turns back around. "Did you see that?" I flinch at the gesture. "That is completely illegal in here.

Ellis: "What's so funny?" Skyla: You're funny," I say. "You look real scary. I bet your mom's proud, though." I don't know why I add that last bit, I just do.

Let me give you a piece of advice, and please retain it. I’d hate to needlessly expel air for the benefit of having you nod absentmindedly.

I'm going to fight for you. I'll bring down the Counts, and Chloe, and every Sector in the universe that gets in my way without think twice. I'm not interested in what the future has planned. I want to share everything with you, Skyla. I'm in love with you.

Perfect knowledge is hallowed ground. It caresses you, cradles you with the barbed wire of truth. It grazes and tears at your flesh as though it ever really mattered- as if there were anything you could have done to stop it from penetrating you so completely. Revenge in the hand of your enemies is a loaded gun. You can beg them for mercy, wave the white flag of surrender, but the only true elixir for the vitriol they bestow is a measure of hatred dispensed of you own. Never lie down for the enemy. Never hand them the knife with which to slaughter you. The truth is a labyrinth. Secrets are the truths as sharp as razors ready to spread like a virus- ready to saw your existence in half. My truths came to light. They took shape in the form of my enemies until all of the color bled out from my world. It lacked the beauty and majesty of a black and white portrait. The landscape had glazed over in rusted tones of sepia-rancid-tarnished- with urine colored sky. My world glittered from the fragmented glass it had become. This is what I know. These are my truths.

My world glittered from the fragmented glass it had become.

The truth is a labyrinth. Secrets are truths as sharp as razors ready to spread like a virus—ready to saw your existence in half.