“Careful Tris.”
“What?”
“I’m developing a theory.”
“And it is?”
“That you have a death wish.”

Not sure how I’ll be able to draw the last page with all this rain in my eyes…
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I had an interview the other day in Germany where the interviewer was like, “I heard some recordings of you when you were fourteen and your voice sounds so different. Why have you changed so much?” And I was like, “My balls have dropped.”

She’s not pretty, that word is too small. She is not like the girls I used to stare at, all bend and curve and softness. She is small but strong, and her bright eyes demand attention. Looking at her is like waking up.

…I’m your woman now, Jon Snow. You’re going to be loyal to your woman. […] It’s you and me that matters to me and you.
“He waits for me to deny it; I want to deny it, but it’s true. Even now I can see the flash that ignites her, feel the heat of the flames. And I will never be able to separate that moment from Gale. My silence is my answer.”