Helene

“There are other people on the Internet. It's awesome. You get all the benefits of 'other people' without the body odor and the eye contact.”
― Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl

“Don't feel bad for one moment about doing what brings you joy.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“Mr. Rohan,” she heard Beatrix ask, “are you going to marry my sister?”
Amelia choked on her tea and set the cup down. She sputtered and coughed into her napkin.
“Hush, Beatrix,” Win murmured.
“But she’s wearing his ring—”
Poppy clamped her hand over Beatrix’s mouth. “Hush!”
“I might,” Cam replied. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued. “I find your sister a bit lacking in humor. And she doesn’t seem particularly obedient. On the other hand—”
One set of French doors flew open, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. Everyone on the back terrace looked up in startlement, the men rising from their chairs.
“No,” came Win’s soft cry.
Merripen stood there, having dragged himself from his sickbed. He was bandaged and disheveled, but he looked far from helpless. He looked like a maddened bull, his dark head lowered, his hands clenched into massive fists. And his stare, promising death, was firmly fixed on Cam.
There was no mistaking the bloodlust of a Roma whose kinswoman had been dishonored.
“Oh, God,” Amelia muttered.
Cam, who stood beside her chair, glanced down at her questioningly. “Did you say something to him?”
Amelia turned red as she recalled her blood-spotted nightgown and the maid’s expression. “It must have been servants’ talk.”
Cam stared at the enraged giant with resignation. “You may be in luck,” he said to Amelia. “It looks as if our betrothal is going to end prematurely.”
She made to stand beside him, but he pressed her back into the chair. “Stay out of this. I don’t want you hurt in the fray.”
“He won’t hurt me,” Amelia said curtly. “It’s you he wants to slaughter.”
Holding Merripen’s gaze, Cam moved slowly away from the table. “Is there something you’d like to discuss, chal?” he asked with admirable self-possession.
Merripen replied in Romany. Although no one save Cam understood what he said, it was clearly not encouraging.
“I’m going to marry her,” Cam said, as if to pacify him.
“That’s even worse!” Merripen moved forward, murder in his eyes.
Lord St. Vincent swiftly interceded, stepping between the pair. Like Cam, he’d had his share of putting down fights at the gambling club. He lifted his hands in a staying gesture and spoke smoothly. “Easy, large fellow. I’m sure you can find a way to resolve your differences in a reasonable fashion.”
“Get out of my way,” Merripen growled, putting an end to the notion of civilized discourse.
St. Vincent’s pleasant expression didn’t change. “You have a point. There’s nothing so tiresome as being reasonable. I myself avoid it whenever possible. Still, I’m afraid you can’t brawl when there are ladies present. It might give them ideas.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Mine Till Midnight

“No one is born evil, just like no one is born alone. They become that way, through choice and circumstance.”
― Victoria Aveyard, Glass Sword