He's a murderer.

A monster.

A sadist.

He longs for her heart, a craving that will never be satisfied. He knows that she has already given half of herself to the thistle, and the remaining half is weak and healing. She will never be the same but still, he longs. He forces all the pleasure out of his life and focuses on his ambitions, until he has almost collapsed, surrendering himself to her, and only her.

Yet. He still hopes. He wishes. He wants.

His heart aches with the pains of a thousand, as if all the world's souls rest within him. He knows he is lethal, of course he is lethal.

After all, he holds the weapon of love.