just drink yourself to death
so i never have to see you again
i know my love, it sounds cruel
but i’m the one killing you. [x]
“I’m not as sad as I sound in my songs.”
What kind of a place was this? Could a world really exist where ancient legends went wandering around the borders of tiny, insignificant towns, facing down mythical monsters? Did this mean every impossible fairy tale was grounded somewhere in absolute truth? Was there anything sane or normal at all, or was everything just magic and ghost stories?
— New Moon, Chapter 12