Why did you make David a vampire, even though he told you no? Why did you keep hurting that woman, when she told you no, too? You always said that you only wanted people who were willing. You scared me. I’m going to try not to think about it.
I learned that part of being alive is screaming your heart out to something. Anything. That sometimes crying and listening to the Rent soundtrack is a good thing. A necessary thing. And, most of all, I learned that some of the best thinking is done on long, silent drives.
You. Bastard who rose high in the world. Humble. Kind. Primal. Loyal. Beautiful. Master of Longclaw. Destroyer of White Walkers. Friend to the lost and fat and cowardly. Lover to Wildling. Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. And, for now at least, King In The North. You command all of our attention.
It’s a New York spring morning: hazy, dim, quiet. From the bottom of the staircase I hear these new sounds: wailing, then choked silence, then gasping for breath. It is 6 in the morning and my mother is in tears.
See, this way, I can prove I’m smart — an urgent need as I continue to fail spectacularly in French or algebra. I can prove it, in particular, to my Dad. Beat him at his own game, make him proud — it’s flawless logic, no?
She takes hold of her ebony Queen. I can’t help but admire the piece, its intricate details standing out against the contrasting background of her pale skin. “I can’t believe you gave up your advantage,” she says. She knew what I was going to do before I did it. It’s like she can see my future. But I can’t see hers.