“Who. Hit. You?”

“Who. Hit. You?”

“It was stealing her breath, imbecile. Go get a towel." -Christophe, Strange Angels by Lili St. Crow”

“You can only shove shit under your bed for so long before it starts moving around and wanting to get out. You can only cope for so long before everything breaks.”

“No,” he agreed. “You’re not. She never caused me this agony.”What could I say to that? The way he was looking at me was making my head feel funny. Was making me feel funny and not just in that oh God I just almost died way.Christophe leaned in. His mouth was a mere centimetres from me. “She never made me think I would die of heart failure. She never, never made me fear for her this way.”

“It's woman's power, food is. You be sure you know where'n the hook is before swallerin' it, Dru. You mind me, now.”

“And death doesn't wait for you when your rested and ready. It sneaks up on you when your exhausted and hungry and cold and so scared you can't even see straight”

“I was always holding onto people, and they were always leaving.”

“Who. Hit. You?”

“To Gran, “strong medicine” could be good or bad, just like the laxatives she was forevertalking about. Good for makin’ the mail move smooth, but too much and you shit yerbrains out.-strange angels”

“Graves leaned forward, eyeing me. “Hey, Dru. You were French-kissing awinged snake. Creeptastic.”

“I love you!" he shouted, his eyes glowing laser green."I love you, okay? I'm not some hopeless retard you pull along behind you because you feel sorry for him! I love you and I'm going to prove it!”