He wonders if she knew, if she even understood.

She wields words like weapons and dispenses justice as easily as one slicks jam on toast. She lives up to her name, a glowing goddess of war, a true child of Mars. But as she walked through the valleys of their world, she held the allure of Venus and the charms of Minerva. He wonders if the gods got together to create their perfect child in her. She is bright and self-contained, darkness and light in one being. She helps those who can't help themselves and punish those she deems unworthy. She is everything beautiful and perfect, all things horrifying and scarred.

She walks taller than her stature, and people are content to leave wide paths for her. Men fall at her feet, willing to do her deeds and have her wrap them around her fingers. A tilt of the head and a batting of over-long lashes have them on their knees. They look and see the perfection of beauty and the desire to protect, and though she needs no protection, she allows them their thoughts and uses their foolishness as part of her arsenal. She is Venus personified.

She smites the wicked without fail, without fear. Her worldview allows only ethical men, not moral men who use the law to further agendas. But her justice is neither blind nor unyielding. Her morals are grey. She would rather deal with gangsters than government agents if it means dispensing justice where needed. They say no man is an island, but Veronica Mars is no man. She is Mars personified.

She stands alone. Men have come before and after him, all attempting to reach her unreachable heart. None walked away unscathed. But he stood broken before and dared to breach her walls. She could not break him further. But she does. Every time she ran, every time she withdrew, she broke him further, something he had never thought possible.

But he breaks her, too. He started it first. He had created her.