Haven, the beautiful angel who landed in my front yard, murdered someone. She'd killed her keeper's son for a chance to live. A life for a life. This should change everything about the way I view her. A couple days ago she was this innocent, misused princess who had escaped the wicked clutches of an evil stepfather-like person—a little fairy tale-ish, but give me a break, that's how it sounds—but now she's not some damsel in distress. You could call her a cold-blooded killer, but that would be a lie. She's a warrior. The best kind. One with an innocent face and ruthless means. I'm not in love with some girl who was mistreated and abused. I'm in love with someone who, the more I get to know her, reminds me of myself. She has her own walls to keep the outside world out crumbling at the same speed as mine. She wanted to keep her name. She wanted to expose herself. I hide from mine, but I’m being exposed anyway. After she tells me about killing Left Arm, as she referred to him, she slips quickly into the grasp of sleep.
