If disguise was a vehicle, murder was a world.

Azel was an aficionado in killing and in chocolate cake.

Love?’ Echo was right. All destruction started from love, didn’t it?

The red was something none of them could contain.

Her own vague red trail created a livid atmosphere. She was like an avalanche and they were her nostalgia.

Metaphysically, his bowl filled and emptied at the same time. Violent and maniacal to push himself so far, he’d both created and destroyed his body’s energy. In other words he had complete power, self-sustaining, self-sacrificing...

He had forgotten they lived with a rope around their necks – until it cinched.

Being alone does not make you crazy, it reminds you of who you are.

We have time. Fear tangled into her clothes, cinched the shirt, spiraled into the veins.

A mother is an individual who’d go to any length for someone else, beyond rationality, beyond her physical body, her social bindings of state, country, her kind. That’s the most horrifying individual you’ll ever meet.

The noise increased and came from all directions. There was no amount of reason to negotiate the void between sound and movement.

Then she loved him as she would a manifestation of herself, both silenced and wounded in existence, both everything and nothing to eternity.

We never care for anyone for their own sake. We train them for the system. No one matters for their own sake. No one acts for their own sake. The system will always be bigger...

The dead are not always so dumb as you think, it takes much more to die than you would believe.

What is damage but forcing yourself, memories of yourself, onto someone else? Coloring someone else’s body. In reality, it’s sort of romantic. It’s why we love to hurt each other.

You’ll forget your inner peace, forget that it comes from impermanence. From knowing that everything will break. And only reason can right you.

Spirits didn’t notice death. By the rule of impermanence, what was meant to break simply broke, and there was only the next breaking and the next.