The Love We'd Shared Always

By The Way, My Name's Rose Hathaway. I'm Seventeen Years Old, Training To Protect And Kill Vampires, In Love With A Completely Unsuitable Guy, And Have A Best Friend Whose Weird Magic Could Drive Her Crazy. Hey, No One Said High School Was Easy.

I Will Always Love You." "no You Won't. You'll Move On. So Will I.

It'd Be Nice To Have Someone Who Understood Some Of The Things That Went On In My Head.

He Used To Talk To Me About Russia All The Time And Had Sworn Up And Down That I'd Love It Here. "to You, It'd Be Like A Fairy Tale," He'd Told Me. "sorry, Comrade. Borg And Out-of-date Music Aren't Part Of Any Happy Ending I've Ever Imagined." "borscht, Not Borg. And I've Seen Your Appetite. If You Were Hungry Enough, You'd Eat It." "so Starvation's Necessary For This Fairy Tale To Work Out?

Look Who's Calling The Cauldron Black." "kettle. It’s A Kettle. Get Your Metaphors Right." "that Wasn’t A Metaphor. It Was A, You Know..." He Stared Off Into Space, Blinking. "one Of Those Things That’s Symbolic Of Another Thing. But Isn’t The Same Thing. Just Like It." "you Mean A Metaphor?" "no! It’s Like A Story...like...a Proverb! That’s It." "i’m Pretty Sure That Wasn’t A Proverb. Maybe It Was An Analogy." "i Don’t Think So.