Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. I know you’re young but I think I, no, I know that I love you. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone.
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