It was Isabelle, hurrying toward them through the stench and smoke. She wore a close-fitting dark jacket, smeared with yellowish blood. Gold chains hung with rune charms circled her wrists and ankles, and her whip curled around her like a net of electrum wire.

“What’s wrong with me? I just want to connect. Why can’t I connect with people? Oh, right, it’s cause I’m dead”

driftingwayward:

To love is to destroy