Not anymore, though," he said. "And I guess that's the one perk of loving a dead girl. She never changes.

Isobel had entrusted the note to Gwen just before Baltimore. And the small scrap of paper still remained her only tangible evidence that Varen had loved her.Expect...he didn't anymore.

You loved her," Isobel

You yourself could be nothing more than a shadow, someone else’s dream who is, themselves, someone else’s.

Though Isobel could recall only a few specifics regrading the appearance of Poe's wife-a handful of vague characteristics picked up during her study with Varen, retained from the one or two glimpses she'd had for her portraits- Scrimshaw, it seemed, had forgotten nothing.

Despite all the dark armor, the kohl liner, the black boots and chains, she saw him clearly now. She’d peered through the curtain of that cruel calmness, through the death stare and the vampire sentiments and angst and, behind it all, had found true beauty.

Side by side we'll fight the tide,That sweeps in to take us down.Hand in hand we'll both withstand,Even as we drown.

He hated himself," Gwen said. "You just got caught in the cross fire.

Dancers churned around them like storm tossed flowers, their heads held to either side as they whirled with abandonment.“Look at them,” he whispered, his voice in her ear. “Have you ever seen anything like it? They have everything, don’t they? Everything except a single care to dwell on.

Painted faces laughed. It was like a mad carnival where everyone was oblivious, lost in the bliss of chaos, a throng unaware of a bomb planted beneath thefloorboards.