It’s so hard for me to accept the good in him.

He is loyal to you. It is his desire to be with you that drives him to these desperate schemes.

For what they had forgotten, they would soon remember: disassociation breeds prejudice, bitterness, and apathy – emotions too monstrous for any one kingdom in any one land to contain, and too powerful to ever be defeated by magic alone.

Still, it makes sense that his insight echoes through my soul when I’m teetering at the edge of insecurity, considering he’s Wonderland’s wisdom keeper, the custodian of all things mad and daring.

I stare at the photo. It’s an image of a huge black-winged moth from one of Alison’s old albums. The shot is amazing, the way the wings are splayed on a flower between a slant of sun and shade, teetering between two worlds. Alison used to capture things most people wouldn’t notice – moments in time when opposites collide, then merge seamlessly together.

Biting my lip, I trace the cigarette-butt scars along Jeb’s bared torso. I’ve often wished he could replace all those bad memories with the good ones we’ve made together since. But now, more than ever, I realize how important every memory is, bad or good, because they shape who we become.

Good. I can’t be the only diva in this relationship. It is far too exhausting.

The scented cloud permeates the air and coats our tongues, triggering images: licorice tobacco and a seductive fae with an agenda, ocean salt and a mortal boy’s sweat, maple syrup and a father’s love, a mother’s sacrifice and a lunar garden rich with lilies and honeysuckle.

There is no reasoning when it comes to Morpheus. You just accept him as he is.

Jeb presses my knuckles to his chest. “No. I’ll go. You fly back with bug snot.” “Of course,” Morpheus interrupts, his voice edged with something between sarcasm and suggestiveness. “I’ll be happy to take Alyssa back with me. We can pick up where we left off in my bedroom, right, luv?