Look, everyone talks about the unknown like it's some big scary thing, but it's the familiar that's always bothered me. It's heavy, builds up around you like rocks, until it's walls and a ceiling and a cell.

And perhaps that was the test of faith, to know, and not to say, to live with knowing, and let the truth live only in one's head.

After all, if you run far enough, no one can catch you.

There were a hundred shades between a truth and lie, and she knew them all.

Caring was a thing with claws. It sank them in, and didn’t let go. Caring hurt more than a knife to the leg, more than a few broken ribs, more than anything that bled or broke and healed again. Caring didn’t break you clean. It was a bone that didn’t set, a cut that wouldn’t close.