Sangay Glass's Blog - Posts Tagged "revenge"

There is nothing more dangerous than a woman detached from her body and emotions.

Detachment isn’t just Candice’s coping mechanism—it’s her weapon.

In the brutal, shifting landscape of the Adirondacks, where killers think they’re in control, Candice’s ability to separate from pain, from fear, from the moment itself, is the one thing keeping her alive.

She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t hesitate. She calculates.

Most people rely on fight or flight. Candice exists in something else entirely—a limbo between survival and surrender, where she can play the long game without getting lost in the weight of the moment.
Trauma didn’t just break her; it shaped her into something unpredictable, something unreadable.

And that makes her more dangerous than the predators hunting her.

Because she isn’t their prey. She’s hunting, too.

Survival in the wilderness is brutal.

Survival in the wilderness while being hunted by a serial killer?

That’s the kind of nightmare that should leave a person raw, terrified, and hyper-focused on staying alive.

But Candice? She trips over tree roots, gets stuck in her rain gear, names her kayak. She even delivers some of the most darkly comedic one-liners while actively outmaneuvering men who want her dead.

That’s the paradox of Candice.

Her physical antics—stumbling, slipping, getting tangled, or flat-out sabotaging herself. It all might seem like classic slapstick, but it's wrapped in the eerie detachment of someone who has spent her life walking a razor-thin edge between survival and surrender.

Her mind is calculating, always searching for an exit, but her body? Her body plays along with whatever chaos the wilderness and her own poor decisions throw at her.

Her humor is sharp, often self-deprecating, and almost always a defense mechanism.

When she lets out a deadpan “Well, that’s unfortunate” after realizing she’s stuck in deep water with a rogue kayak, or cracks a joke about her inability to properly portage said kayak, it’s not just funny—it’s a coping mechanism.

The humor isn’t just for the reader; it’s for her. It’s her way of staying in control when the world (and the killer stalking her) want nothing more than to take that control away.

Candice’s detachment doesn’t just make her fearless—it makes her unpredictable. While others would freeze in terror, she’s making offhanded quips, distracting her enemies, or pulling off some utterly ridiculous stunt that somehow, against all odds, works in her favor.

There’s a fine line between survivalist and wildcard, and Candice blurs that line with an almost reckless determination.

At the core of her dark humor is a simple truth: she refuses to let fear define her.

She’s spent too long as someone’s target, and if she’s going down, she’ll go down with a smirk, a sarcastic remark, and maybe a clumsy fall into the mud for good measure.

In the end, Candice isn’t just surviving—she’s flipping the script.

And if that means laughing in the face of danger while physically making a mess of things?

Well, she’ll take that over screaming any day.

Ledge Pond> A psychological Thriller > Sangay Glass> March 12, 2025

Romance has conditioned us to believe love is proven through: Ownership. Protection. Gifts.

But true devotion isn’t about any of that. It’s about presence.

Randal isn’t a billionaire with an over-the-top proposal. He doesn’t stake his claim on Candice like she’s a prize to be won.

He’s simply there. Consistently. Unwaveringly. Through fear, through uncertainty, through moments when she’s sure she should run.

Love, at its purest, isn’t about extravagant gifts or grand declarations.

It’s about showing up when it matters.

It’s about standing beside someone, not in front of them as a shield or behind them as a captor.

Women deserve love that isn’t a prize but a partnership.

Love that isn’t about holding them back but holding them steady - holding them up when they need it.

Maybe it’s time we start craving devotion over dominance.

Maybe it’s time we stop looking for men who possess us—and start choosing men who see us.

There’s something about a love story that isn’t soft. One that isn’t all sunshine and whispered promises over candlelit dinners.

No, the kind of love that sticks—that burns—is the kind that’s forged in stone, in blood, in battle scars.

It’s the kind of love that knows pain. That understands sacrifice. That thrives in the shadows of shared experience, where trust isn’t given—it’s earned.

And if it’s earned, it’s fought for. If it’s fought for, it’s worth everything.

That’s Candice and Randal. Their bond isn’t built on easy romance or fleeting infatuation. It’s something darker, something deeper—a collision of two people who see each other for what they really are. Flawed. Dangerous. Unapologetically human.

Nothing says I love you like covering up a crime scene together.

Maybe love isn’t always about being good together.

Maybe it’s about knowing someone will stand by your side when the bodies start piling up.

Maybe it’s about finding someone who would kill and die for you.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s the only kind of love that ever really lasts.

There is a goodreads giveaway for Ledge Pond going on. Follow me for details. I'm also always open to questions.

Ledge Pond

There’s something about a bond forged not just in love, but in shared secrets, unspoken truths, and the weight of knowing things no one else does.

It’s the kind of connection that doesn’t need words—a glance across a room, a hand tightening around a wrist, a quiet understanding that what’s buried between us will never see the light of day.

Some relationships are built on trust. Others? On the scars they share.

When you know someone’s darkest truth, when you’ve stood at the edge of something unspeakable together—whether it’s crime, survival, or simply the knowledge that the world isn’t as clean as people pretend it is—that bond is unbreakable.

And maybe that’s why some love stories aren’t soft. They’re earned. They’re fought for. They’re worth dying for.

Some people bring peace into your life. Others? Bring fire.

But the right partner—the perfect partner—hands you the match and watches with a knowing smile, ready to fan the flames just enough to keep you from burning yourself.

A positively chaotic partnership isn’t about reckless destruction; it’s about transformation.

It’s about stepping outside your comfort zone with someone who sees the potential in your chaos, someone who challenges you without breaking you. They push your boundaries, not to tear you down, but to show you how high you can climb.

They know when to encourage your wild ideas, when to rein you in, and when to let you run free. They hold up a mirror, revealing strengths you never realized you had. They don’t make you comfortable—they make you better.

Maybe they challenge the way you see yourself. Maybe they teach you to take risks. Maybe they show you that you're capable of so much more than you ever imagined.

The best partnerships are built on trust, a little mischief, and the kind of bond that turns ordinary life into something legendary.

Because while some lovers set your world on fire, the perfect partner hands you the match—and stands beside you to watch the sparks fly.

Ledge Pond