“Does anything about the way I love you feel tragic?” I ask, brushing my lips across her jaw. “Yes,” she whimpers. “But only because one day it will end.” A growl rips from my throat, and I fist her hair, tipping her head back and forcing her to see the truth. “You and I will never end, little mouse. Even when we’re six feet under, and our bones are dust, I will haunt your soul until it aches to be free of me. And then, I will hold you tighter.”
