“I never felt worthy. I was not. And still, I know that for him, I would have sold every organ of my body on the vilest, filthiest market, for the lowest price imaginable, if only he had asked-if only he had wished it. That is how much I loved him. That is how much I love him still. And I hate him with the fury of a volcano whose wrath petrifies all around it, condemning all it touches to ruin”
Book:Fatalité